← catalogue

Tales of the Punjab: Folklore of India

by Flora Annie Webster Steel · English · Gutenberg #6145 · 460,972 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tales of the Punjab: Folklore of India
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Tales of the Punjab: Folklore of India

Author: Flora Annie Webster Steel

Commentator: Sir Richard Carnac Temple


        
Release date: July 1, 2004 [eBook #6145]
                Most recently updated: October 11, 2014

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6145

Credits: Produced by Curtis A. Weyant, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF THE PUNJAB: FOLKLORE OF INDIA ***




Produced by Curtis A. Weyant, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.










TALES OF THE PUNJAB
FOLKLORE OF INDIA

BY

FLORA ANNIE STEEL




CONTENTS



Preface

To the Little Reader

Sir Buzz
The Rat's Wedding
The Faithful Prince
The Bear's Bad Bargain
Prince Lionheart and his Three Friends
The Lambkin
Bopolûchî
Princess Aubergine
Valiant Vicky, the Brave Weaver
The Son of Seven Mothers
The Sparrow and the Crow
The Tiger, the Brâhman, and the Jackal
The King of the Crocodiles
Little Anklebone
The Close Alliance
The Two Brothers
The Jackal and the Iguana
The Death and Burial of Poor Hen-Sparrow
Princess Pepperina
Peasie and Beansir
The Jackal and the Partridge
The Snake-woman and King Ali Mardan
The Wonderful Ring
The Jackal and the Pea-hen
The Grain of Corn
The Farmer and the Money-lender
The Lord of Death
The Wrestlers
The Legend of Gwâshbrâri, the Glacier-Hearted Queen
The Barber's Clever Wife
The Jackal and the Crocodile
How Raja Rasâlu Was Born
How Raja Rasâlu Went Out Into the World
How Raja Rasâlu's Friends Forsook Him
How Raja Rasâlu Killed the Giants
How Raja Rasâlu Became a Jôgi
How Raja Rasâlu Journeyed to the City of King Sarkap
How Raja Rasâlu Swung the Seventy Fair Maidens, Daughters of the King
How Raja Rasâlu Played Chaupur with King Sarkap
The King Who Was Fried
Prince Half-a-Son
The Mother and Daughter Who Worshipped the Sun
The Ruby Prince

Notes to the Tales




PREFACE


Many of the tales in this collection appeared either in the _Indian
Antiquary_, the _Calcutta Review_, or the _Legends of the
Punjab_.  They were then in the form of literal translations, in
many cases uncouth or even unpresentable to ears polite, in all
scarcely intelligible to the untravelled English reader; for it must
be remembered that, with the exception of the Adventures of Raja
Rasâlu, all these stories are strictly folk-tales passing current
among a people who can neither read nor write, and whose diction is
full of colloquialisms, and, if we choose to call them so,
vulgarisms.  It would be manifestly unfair, for instance, to compare
the literary standard of such tales with that of the _Arabian
Nights_, the _Tales of a Parrot_, or similar works.  The
manner in which these stories were collected is in itself sufficient
to show how misleading it would be, if, with the intention of giving
the conventional Eastern flavour to the text, it were to be
manipulated into a flowery dignity; and as a description of the
procedure will serve the double purpose of credential and excuse, the
authors give it,--premising that all the stories but three have been
collected by Mrs. F. A. Steel during winter tours through the various
districts of which her husband has been Chief Magistrate.

A carpet is spread under a tree in the vicinity of the spot which the
Magistrate has chosen for his _darbâr_, but far enough away from
bureaucracy to let the village idlers approach it should they feel so
inclined.  In a very few minutes, as a rule, some of them begin to
edge up to it, and as they are generally small boys, they commence
nudging each other, whispering, and sniggering.  The fancied approach
of a _chuprâsî_, the 'corrupt lictor' of India, who attends at
every _darbâr_, will however cause a sudden stampede; but after a
time these become less and less frequent, the wild beasts, as it were,
becoming tamer.  By and by a group of women stop to gaze, and then the
question 'What do you want?' invariably brings the answer 'To see your
honour' (_âp ke darshan âe_).  Once the ice is broken, the only
difficulties are, first, to understand your visitors, and secondly, to
get them to go away.  When the general conversation is fairly started,
inquiries are made by degrees as to how many witches there are in the
village, or what cures they know for fever and the evil eye,
_etc_.  At first these are met by denials expressed in set terms,
but a little patient talk will generally lead to some remarks which
point the villagers' minds in the direction required, till at last,
after many persuasions, some child begins a story, others correct the
details, emulation conquers shyness, and finally the story-teller is
brought to the front with acclamations:  for there is always a
story-teller _par excellence_ in every village--generally a boy.

Then comes the need for patience, since in all probability the first
story is one you have heard a hundred times, or else some pointless
and disconnected jumble.  At the conclusion of either, however, the
teller must be profusely complimented, in the hopes of eliciting
something more valuable.  But it is possible to waste many hours, and
in the end find yourself possessed of nothing save some feeble variant
of a well-known legend, or, what is worse, a compilation of oddments
which have lingered in a faulty memory from half a dozen distinct
stories.  After a time, however, the attentive collector is rewarded
by finding that a coherent whole is growing up in his or her mind out
of the shreds and patches heard here and there, and it is delight
indeed when your own dim suspicion that this part of the puzzle fits
into that is confirmed by finding the two incidents preserved side by
side in the mouth of some perfectly unconscious witness.  Some of the
tales in this volume have thus been a year or more on the stocks
before they had been heard sufficiently often to make their form
conclusive.

And this accounts for what may be called the greater literary sequence
of these tales over those to be found in many similar collections.
They have been selected carefully with the object of securing a good
story in what appears to be its best form; but they have not been
doctored in any way, not even in the language.  That is neither a
transliteration--which would have needed a whole dictionary to be
intelligible--nor a version orientalised to suit English tastes.  It
is an attempt to translate one colloquialism by another, and thus to
preserve the aroma of rough ready wit existing side by side with that
perfume of pure poesy which every now and again contrasts so strangely
with the other.  Nothing would have been easier than to alter the
style; but to do so would, in the collector's opinion, have robbed the
stories of all human value.

That such has been the deliberate choice may be seen at a glance
through the only story which has a different origin.  The Adventures
of Raja Rasâlu was translated from the rough manuscript of a village
accountant; and, being current in a more or less classical form, it
approaches more nearly to the conventional standards of an Indian
tale.

The work has been apportioned between the authors in this way.  Mrs.
F. A. Steel is responsible for the text, and Major R. C. Temple for
the annotations.

It is therefore hoped that the form of the book may fulfil the double
intention with which it was written; namely, that the text should
interest children, and at the same time the notes should render it
valuable to those who study Folklore on its scientific side.

F. A. _Steel_
R. C. _Temple_




TO THE LITTLE READER


Would you like to know how these stories are told?  Come with me, and
you shall see.  There! take my hand and do not be afraid, for Prince
Hassan's carpet is beneath your feet.  So now!--'Hey presto!
Abracadabra!'  Here we are in a Punjabi village.

                              * * * * *

It is sunset.  Over the limitless plain, vast and unbroken as the
heaven above, the hot cloudless sky cools slowly into shadow.  The men
leave their labour amid the fields, which, like an oasis in the
desert, surround the mud-built village, and, plough on shoulder, drive
their bullocks homewards.  The women set aside their spinning-wheels,
and prepare the simple evening meal.  The little girls troop, basket
on head, from the outskirts of the village, where all day long they
have been at work, kneading, drying, and stacking the fuel-cakes so
necessary in that woodless country.  The boys, half hidden in clouds
of dust, drive the herds of gaunt cattle and ponderous buffaloes to
the thorn-hedged yards.  The day is over, the day which has been so
hard and toilful even for the children,--and with the night comes rest
and play.  The village, so deserted before, is alive with voices; the
elders cluster round the courtyard doors, the little ones whoop
through the narrow alleys.  But as the short-lived Indian twilight
dies into darkness, the voices one by one are hushed, and as the stars
come out the children disappear.  But not to sleep:  it is too hot,
for the sun which has beaten so fiercely all day on the mud walls, and
floors, and roofs, has left a legacy of warmth behind it, and not till
midnight will the cool breeze spring up, bringing with it refreshment
and repose.  How then are the long dark hours to be passed?  In all
the village not a lamp or candle is to be found; the only light--and
that too used but sparingly and of necessity--being the dim smoky
flame of an oil-fed wick.  Yet, in spite of this, the hours, though
dark, are not dreary, for this, in an Indian village, is
_story-telling time_; not only from choice, but from obedience to
the well-known precept which forbids such idle amusement between
sunrise and sunset.  Ask little Kaniyâ, yonder, why it is that he, the
best story-teller in the village, never opens his lips till after
sunset, and he will grin from ear to ear, and with a flash of dark
eyes and white teeth, answer that travellers lose their way when idle
boys and girls tell tales by daylight.  And Naraini, the herd-girl,
will hang her head and cover her dusky face with her rag of a veil, if
you put the question to her; or little Râm Jas shake his bald shaven
poll in denial; but not one of the dark-skinned, bare-limbed village
children will yield to your request for a story.

No, no!--from sunrise to sunset, when even the little ones must
labour, not a word; but from sunset to sunrise, when no man can work,
the tongues chatter glibly enough, for that is story-telling time.
Then, after the scanty meal is over, the bairns drag their
wooden-legged, string-woven bedsteads into the open, and settle
themselves down like young birds in a nest, three or four to a bed,
while others coil up on mats upon the ground, and some, stealing in
for an hour from distant alleys, beg a place here or there.

The stars twinkle overhead, the mosquito sings through the hot air,
the village dogs bark at imaginary foes, and from one crowded nest
after another rises a childish voice telling some tale, old yet ever
new,--tales that were told in the sunrise of the world, and will be
told in its sunset.  The little audience listens, dozes, dreams, and
still the wily Jackal meets his match, or Bopolûchî brave and bold
returns rich and victorious from the robber's den.  Hark!--that is
Kaniyâ's voice, and there is an expectant stir amongst the drowsy
listeners as he begins the old old formula--

'Once upon a time--'




TALES OF THE PUNJAB

FOLKLORE OF INDIA




SIR BUZZ


Once upon a time a soldier died, leaving a widow and one son.  They
were dreadfully poor, and at last matters became so bad that they had
nothing left in the house to eat.

'Mother,' said the son, 'give me four shillings, and I will go seek my
fortune in the wide world.'

'Alas!' answered the mother, 'and where am I, who haven't a farthing
wherewith to buy bread, to find four shillings?'

'There is that old coat of my father's,' returned the lad; 'look in
the pocket--perchance there is something there.'

So she looked, and behold! there were six shillings hidden away at the
very bottom of the pocket!

'More than I bargained for,' quoth the lad, laughing.'  See, mother,
these two shillings are for you; you can live on that till I return,
the rest will pay my way until I find my fortune.'

So he set off to find his fortune, and on the way he saw a tigress,
licking her paw, and moaning mournfully.  He was just about to run
away from the terrible creature, when she called to him faintly,
saying, 'Good lad, if you will take out this thorn for me, I shall be
for ever grateful.'

'Not I!' answered the lad.  'Why, if I begin to pull it out, and it
pains you, you will kill me with a pat of your paw.'

[Illustration:  Boy pulling thorn out of a tigress's paw]

'No, no!' cried the tigress, 'I will turn my face to this tree, and
when the pain comes I will pat _it_.'

To this the soldier's son agreed; so he pulled out the thorn, and when
the pain came the tigress gave the tree such a blow that the trunk
split all to pieces.  Then she turned towards the soldier's son, and
said gratefully, 'Take this box as a reward, my son, but do not open
it until you have travelled nine miles'

So the soldier's son thanked the tigress, and set off with the box to
find his fortune.  Now when he had gone five miles, he felt certain
that the box weighed more than it had at first, and every step he took
it seemed to grow heavier and heavier.  He tried to struggle on--
though it was all he could do to carry the box--until he had gone
about eight miles and a quarter, when his patience gave way.  'I
believe that tigress was a witch, and is playing off her tricks upon
me,' he cried, 'but I will stand this nonsense no longer.  Lie there,
you wretched old box!--heaven knows what is in you, and I don't care.'

So saying, he flung the box down on the ground:  it burst open with
the shock, and out stepped a little old man.  He was only one span
high, but his beard was a span and a quarter long, and trailed upon
the ground.

The little mannikin immediately began to stamp about and scold the lad
roundly for letting the box down so violently.

'Upon my word!' quoth the soldier's son, scarcely able to restrain a
smile at the ridiculous little figure, 'but you are weighty for your
size, old gentleman!  And what may your name be?'

'Sir Buzz!' snapped the one-span mannikin, still stamping about in a
great rage.

'Upon my word!' quoth the soldier's son once more, 'if _you_ are
all the box contained, I am glad I didn't trouble to carry it
farther.'

'That's not polite,' snarled the mannikin; 'perhaps if you had carried
it the full nine miles you might have found something better; but
that's neither here nor there.  I'm good enough for you, at any rate,
and will serve you faithfully according to my mistress's orders.'

'Serve me!--then I wish to goodness you'd serve me with some dinner,
for I am mighty hungry!  Here are four shillings to pay for it.'

No sooner had the soldier's son said this and given the money, than
with a _whiz! boom! bing!_ like a big bee, Sir Buzz flew through
the air to a confectioner's shop in the nearest town.  There he stood,
the one-span mannikin, with the span and a quarter beard trailing on
the ground, just by the big preserving pan, and cried in ever so loud
a voice, 'Ho! ho!  Sir Confectioner, bring me sweets!'

The confectioner looked round the shop, and out of the door, and down
the street, but could see no one, for tiny Sir Buzz was quite hidden
by the preserving pan.  Then the mannikin called out louder still,
'Ho! ho!  Sir Confectioner, bring me sweets!'  And when the
confectioner looked in vain for his customer, Sir Buzz grew angry, and
ran and pinched him on the legs, and kicked him on the foot, saying,
'Impudent knave! do you mean to say you can't see _me?_ Why, I
was standing by the preserving pan all the time!'

The confectioner apologised humbly, and hurried away to bring out his
best sweets for his irritable little customer.  Then Sir Buzz chose
about a hundredweight of them, and said, 'Quick, tie them up in
something and give them into my hand; I'll carry them home.'

'They will be a good weight, sir,' smiled the confectioner.

'What business is that of yours, I should like to know?' snapped Sir
Buzz.  'Just you do as you're told, and here is your money.'  So
saying he jingled the four shillings in his pocket.

'As you please, sir,' replied the man cheerfully, as he tied up the
sweets into a huge bundle and placed it on the little mannikin's
outstretched hand, fully expecting him to sink under the weight; when
lo! with a _boom! bing!_ he whizzed off with the money still in
his pocket.

He alighted at a corn-chandler's shop, and, standing behind a basket
of flour, called out at the top of his voice, 'Ho! ho!  Sir Chandler,
bring me flour!'

And when the corn-chandler looked round the shop, and out of the
window, and down the street, without seeing anybody, the one-span
mannikin, with his beard trailing on the ground, cried again louder
than before, 'Ho! ho!  Sir Chandler, bring me flour!'

Then on receiving no answer, he flew into a violent rage, and ran and
bit the unfortunate corn-chandler on the leg, pinched him, and kicked
him, saying, 'Impudent varlet! don't pretend you couldn't see
_me!_ Why, I was standing close beside you behind that basket!'

So the corn-chandler apologised humbly for his mistake, and asked Sir
Buzz how much flour he wanted.

'Two hundredweight,' replied the mannikin, 'two hundredweight, neither
more nor less.  Tie it up in a bundle, and I'll take it with me.'

'Your honour has a cart or beast of burden with you, doubtless?' said
the chandler, 'for two hundredweight is a heavy load.'

'What's that to you?' shrieked Sir Buzz, stamping his foot, 'isn't it
enough if I pay for it?'  And then he jingled the money in his pocket
again.

So the corn-chandler tied up the flour in a bundle, and placed it in
the mannikin's outstretched hand, fully expecting it would crush him,
when, with a whiz!  Sir Buzz flew off, with the shillings still in his
pocket. _Boom! bing! boom!_

The soldier's son was just wondering what had become of his one-span
servant, when, with a whir! the little fellow alighted beside him, and
wiping his face with his handkerchief, as if he were dreadfully hot
and tired, said thoughtfully, 'Now I do hope I've brought enough, but
you men have such terrible appetites!'

'More than enough, I should say,' laughed the lad, looking at the huge
bundles.

Then Sir Buzz cooked the girdle-cakes, and the soldier's son ate three
of them and a handful of sweets; but the one-span mannikin gobbled up
all the rest, saying at each mouthful, 'You men have such terrible
appetites--such terrible appetites!'

After that, the soldier's son and his servant Sir Buzz travelled ever
so far, until they came to the King's city.  Now the King had a
daughter called Princess Blossom, who was so lovely, and tender, and
slim, and fair, that she only weighed five flowers.  Every morning she
was weighed in golden scales, and the scale always turned when the
fifth flower was put in, neither less nor more.

Now it so happened that the soldier's son by chance caught a glimpse
of the lovely, tender, slim, and fair Princess Blossom, and, of
course, he fell desperately in love with her.  He would neither sleep
nor eat his dinner, and did nothing all day long but say to his
faithful mannikin, 'Oh, dearest Sir Buzz! oh, kind Sir Buzz!--carry me
to the Princess Blossom, that I may see and speak to her.'

'Carry you!' snapped the little fellow scornfully, 'that's a likely
story!  Why, you're ten times as big as I am.  You should carry
_me!_'

Nevertheless, when the soldier's son begged and prayed, growing pale
and pining away with thinking of the Princess Blossom, Sir Buzz, who
had a kind heart, was moved, and bade the lad sit on his hand.  Then
with a tremendous _boom! bing! boom!_ they whizzed away and were
in the palace in a second.  Being night-time, the Princess was asleep;
nevertheless the booming wakened her and she was quite frightened to
see a handsome young man kneeling beside her.  She began of course to
scream, but stopped at once when the soldier's son with the greatest
politeness, and in the most elegant of language, begged her not to be
alarmed.  And after that they talked together about everything
delightful, while Sir Buzz stood at the door and did sentry; but he
stood a brick up on end first, so that he might not seem to pry upon
the young people.

Now when the dawn was just breaking, the soldier's son and Princess
Blossom, wearied of talking, fell asleep; whereupon Sir Buzz, being a
faithful servant, said to himself, 'Now what is to be done?  If my
master remains here asleep, some one will discover him, and he will be
killed as sure as my name is Buzz; but if I wake him, ten to one he
will refuse to go.'

[Illustration:  Soldier's son kneeling beside Princess Blossom's bed
as they talk]

So without more ado he put his hand under the bed, and _bing!
boom!_ carried it into a large garden outside the town.  There he
set it down in the shade of the biggest tree, and pulling up the next
biggest one by the roots, threw it over his shoulder, and marched up
and down keeping guard.

Before long the whole town was in a commotion, because the Princess
Blossom had been carried off, and all the world and his wife turned
out to look for her.  By and by the one-eyed Chief Constable came to
the garden gate.

'What do you want here?' cried valiant Sir Buzz, making passes at him
with the tree.

The Chief Constable with his one eye could see nothing save the
branches, but he replied sturdily, 'I want the Princess Blossom!'

'I'll blossom you!  Get out of _my_ garden, will you?' shrieked
the one-span mannikin, with his one and quarter span beard trailing on
the ground; and with that he belaboured the Constable's pony so hard
with the tree that it bolted away, nearly throwing its rider.

The poor man went straight to the King, saying, 'Your Majesty!  I am
convinced your Majesty's daughter, the Princess Blossom, is in your
Majesty's garden, just outside the town, as there is a tree there
which fights terribly.'

Upon this the King summoned all his horses and men, and going to the
garden tried to get in; but Sir Buzz behind the tree routed them all,
for half were killed, and the rest ran away.  The noise of the battle,
however, awoke the young couple, and as they were now convinced they
could no longer exist apart, they determined to fly together.  So when
the fight was over, the soldier's son, the Princess Blossom, and Sir
Buzz set out to see the world.

Now the soldier's son was so enchanted with his good luck in winning
the Princess, that he said to Sir Buzz, 'My fortune is made already;
so I shan't want you any more, and you can go back to your mistress.'

'Pooh!' said Sir Buzz.  'Young people always think so; however, have
it your own way, only take this hair out of my beard, and if you
_should_ get into trouble, just burn it in the fire.  I'll come
to your aid.'

So Sir Buzz boomed off, and the soldier's son and the Princess Blossom
lived and travelled together very happily, until at last they lost
their way in a forest, and wandered about for some time without any
food.  When they were nearly starving, a Brâhman found them, and
hearing their story said, 'Alas! you poor children!--come home with
me, and I will give you something to eat.'

Now had he said 'I will eat you,' it would have been much nearer the
mark, for he was no Brâhman, but a dreadful vampire, who loved to
devour handsome young men and slender girls.  But, knowing nothing of
all this, the couple went home with him quite cheerfully.  He was most
polite, and when they arrived at his house, said, 'Please get ready
whatever you want to eat, for I have no cook.  Here are my keys; open
all my cupboards save the one with the golden key.  Meanwhile I will
go and gather firewood.'

Then the Princess Blossom began to prepare the food, while the
soldier's son opened all the cupboards.  In them he saw lovely jewels,
and dresses, and cups and platters, such bags of gold and silver, that
his curiosity got the better of his discretion, and, regardless of the
Brâhman's warning, he said, 'I _will_ see what wonderful thing is
hidden in the cupboard with the golden key.'  So he opened it, and lo!
it was full of human skulls, picked quite clean, and beautifully
polished.  At this dreadful sight the soldier's son flew back to the
Princess Blossom, and said, 'We are lost! we are lost!--this is no
Brâhman, but a horrid vampire!'

At that moment they heard him at the door, and the Princess, who was
very brave and kept her wits about her, had barely time to thrust the
magic hair into the fire, before the vampire, with sharp teeth and
fierce eyes, appeared.  But at the selfsame moment a _boom! boom!
binging_ noise was heard in the air, coming nearer and nearer.
Whereupon the vampire, who knew very well who his enemy was, changed
into a heavy rain pouring down in torrents, hoping thus to drown Sir
Buzz, but _he_ changed into the storm wind beating back the
rain.  Then the vampire changed to a dove, but Sir Buzz, pursuing it
as a hawk, pressed it so hard that it had barely time to change into a
rose, and drop into King Indra's lap as he sat in his celestial court
listening to the singing of some dancing girls.  Then Sir Buzz, quick
as thought, changed into an old musician, and standing beside the bard
who was thrumming the guitar, said, 'Brother, you are tired; let
_me_ play.'

And he played so wonderfully, and sang with such piercing sweetness,
that King Indra said, 'What shall I give you as a reward?  Name what
you please, and it shall be yours.'

Then Sir Buzz said, 'I only ask the rose that is in your Majesty's
lap.'

'I had rather you asked more, or less,' replied King Indra; 'it is but
a rose, yet it fell from heaven; nevertheless it is yours.'

So saying, he threw the rose towards the musician, and lo! the petals
fell in a shower on the ground.  Sir Buzz went down on his knees and
instantly gathered them up; but one petal escaping, changed into a
mouse.  Whereupon Sir Buzz, with the speed of lightning, turned into a
cat, which caught and gobbled up the mouse.

Now all this time the Princess Blossom and the soldier's son,
shivering and shaking, were awaiting the issue of the combat in the
vampire's hut; when suddenly, with a _bing! boom!_ Sir Buzz
arrived victorious, shook his head, and said, 'You two had better go
home, for you are not fit to take care of yourselves.'

Then he gathered together all the jewels and gold in one hand, placed
the Princess and the soldier's son in the other, and whizzed away
home, to where the poor mother--who all this time had been living on
the two shillings--was delighted to see them.

Then with a louder _boom! bing! boom!_ than usual, Sir Buzz,
without even waiting for thanks, whizzed out of sight, and was never
seen or heard of again.

But the soldier's son and the Princess Blossom lived happily ever
after.




THE RAT'S WEDDING


Once upon a time a fat sleek Rat was caught in a shower of rain, and
being far from shelter he set to work and soon dug a nice hole in the
ground, in which he sat as dry as a bone while the raindrops splashed
outside, making little puddles on the road.

Now in the course of his digging he came upon a fine bit of root,
quite dry and fit for fuel, which he set aside carefully--for the Rat
is an economical creature--in order to take it home with him.  So when
the shower was over, he set off with the dry root in his mouth.  As he
went along, daintily picking his way through the puddles, he saw a
poor man vainly trying to light a fire, while a little circle of
children stood by, and cried piteously.

'Goodness gracious!' exclaimed the Rat, who was both soft-hearted and
curious, 'what a dreadful noise to make!  What _is_ the matter?'

'The bairns are hungry,' answered the man; 'they are crying for their
breakfast, but the sticks are damp, the fire won't burn, and so I
can't bake the cakes.'

'If that is all your trouble, perhaps I can help you,' said the
good-natured Rat; 'you are welcome to this dry root, and I'll warrant
it will soon make a fine blaze.'

The poor man, with a thousand thanks, took the dry root, and in his
turn presented the Rat with a morsel of dough, as a reward for his
kindness and generosity.

'What a remarkably lucky fellow I am!' thought the Rat, as he trotted
off gaily with his prize, 'and clever too!  Fancy making a bargain
like that--food enough to last me five days in return for a rotten
old stick! _Wah! wah! wah!_ what it is to have brains!'

Going along, hugging his good fortune in this way, he came presently
to a potter's yard, where the potter, leaving his wheel to spin round
by itself, was trying to pacify his three little children, who were
screaming and crying as if they would burst.

'My gracious!' cried the Rat, stopping his ears, 'what a noise!--do
tell me what it is all about.'

'I suppose they are hungry,' replied the potter ruefully; 'their
mother has gone to get flour in the bazaar, for there is none in the
house.  In the meantime I can neither work nor rest because of them.'

'Is that all!' answered the officious Rat; 'then I can help you.  Take
this dough, cook it quickly, and stop their mouths with food.'

The potter overwhelmed the Rat with thanks for his obliging kindness,
and choosing out a nice well-burnt pipkin, insisted on his accepting
it as a remembrance.

The Rat was delighted at the exchange, and though the pipkin was just
a trifle awkward for him to manage, he succeeded after infinite
trouble in balancing it on his head, and went away gingerly,
_tink-a-tink_, _tink-a-tink,_ down the road, with his tail
over his arm for fear he should trip on it.  And all the time he kept
saying to himself, 'What a lucky fellow I am! and clever too!  Such a
hand at a bargain!'

By and by he came to where some neatherds were herding their cattle.
One of them was milking a buffalo, and having no pail he used his
shoes instead.

'Oh fie! oh fie!' cried the cleanly Rat, quite shocked at the sight.
'What a nasty dirty trick!--why don't you use a pail?'

'For the best of all reasons--we haven't got one!' growled the
neatherd, who did not see why the Rat should put his finger in the
pie.

'If that is all,' replied the dainty Rat, 'oblige me by using this
pipkin, for I cannot bear dirt!'

The neatherd, nothing loath, took the pipkin, and milked away until it
was brimming over; then turning to the Rat, who stood looking on,
said, 'Here, little fellow, you may have a drink, in payment.'

But if the Rat was good-natured he was also shrewd.  'No, no, my
friend,' said he, 'that will not do!  As if I could drink the worth of
my pipkin at a draught!  My dear sir, _I couldn't hold it!_
Besides, I never make a bad bargain, so I expect you at least to give
me the buffalo that gave the milk.'

'Nonsense!' cried the neatherd; 'a buffalo for a pipkin!  Who ever
heard of such a price?  And what on earth could _you_ do with a
buffalo when you got it?  Why, the pipkin was about as much as you
could manage.'

At this the Rat drew himself up with dignity, for he did not like
allusions to his size.

'That is my affair, not yours,' he retorted; 'your business is to hand
over the buffalo.'

So just for the fun of the thing, and to amuse themselves at the Rat's
expense, the neatherds loosed the buffalo's halter and began to tie it
to the little animal's tail.

'No! no!' he called, in a great hurry; 'if the beast pulled, the skin
of my tail would come off, and then where should I be?  Tie it round
my neck, if you please.'

So with much laughter the neatherds tied the halter round the Rat's
neck, and he, after a polite leave-taking, set off gaily towards home
with his prize; that is to say, he set off with the _rope_, for
no sooner did he come to the end of the tether than he was brought up
with a round turn; the buffalo, nose down grazing away, would not
budge until it had finished its tuft of grass, and then seeing another
in a different direction marched off towards it, while the Rat, to
avoid being dragged, had to trot humbly behind, willy-nilly.

He was too proud to confess the truth, of course, and, nodding his
head knowingly to the neatherds, said, 'Ta-ta, good people!  I am
going home this way.  It may be a little longer, but it's much
shadier.'

And when the neatherds roared with laughter he took no notice, but
trotted on, looking as dignified as possible.

'After all,' he reasoned to himself, 'when one keeps a buffalo one has
to look after its grazing.  A beast must get a good bellyful of grass
if it is to give any milk, and I have plenty of time at my disposal.'

So all day long he trotted about after the buffalo, making believe;
but by evening he was dead tired, and felt truly thankful when the
great big beast, having eaten enough, lay down under a tree to chew
the cud.

Just then a bridal party came by.  The bridegroom and his friends had
evidently gone on to the next village, leaving the bride's palanquin
to follow; so the palanquin bearers, being lazy fellows and seeing a
nice shady tree, put down their burden, and began to cook some food.

'What detestable meanness!' grumbled one;' a grand wedding, and
nothing but plain rice pottage to eat!  Not a scrap of meat in it,
neither sweet nor salt!  It would serve the skinflints right if we
upset the bride into a ditch!'

'Dear me!' cried the Rat at once, seeing a way out of his difficulty,
'that _is_ a shame!  I sympathise with your feelings so entirely
that if you will allow me I'll give you my buffalo.  You can kill it,
and cook it.'

'_Your_ buffalo!' returned the discontented bearers, 'what
rubbish!  Whoever heard of a rat owning a buffalo?'

'Not often, I admit,' replied the Rat with conscious pride; 'but look
for yourselves.  Can you not see that I am leading the beast by a
string?'

'Oh, never mind the string!' cried a great big hungry bearer; 'master
or no master, I mean to have meat to my dinner!'

Whereupon they killed the buffalo, and, cooking its flesh, ate their
dinner with relish; then, offering the remains to the Rat, said
carelessly, 'Here, little Rat-skin, that is for you!'

'Now look here!' cried the Rat hotly; 'I'll have none of your pottage,
nor your sauce either.  You don't suppose I am going to give my best
buffalo, that gave quarts and quarts of milk--the buffalo I have been
feeding all day--for a wee bit of rice?  No!--I got a loaf for a bit
of stick; I got a pipkin for a little loaf; I got a buffalo for a
pipkin; and now I'll have the bride for my buffalo--the bride, and
nothing else!'

By this time the servants, having satisfied their hunger, began to
reflect on what they had done, and becoming alarmed at the
consequences, arrived at the conclusion it would be wisest to make
their escape whilst they could.  So, leaving the bride in her
palanquin, they took to their heels in various directions.

The Rat, being as it were left in possession, advanced to the
palanquin, and drawing aside the curtain, with the sweetest of voices
and best of bows begged the bride to descend.  She hardly knew whether
to laugh or to cry, but as any company, even a Rat's, was better than
being quite alone in the wilderness, she did as she was bidden, and
followed the lead of her guide, who set off as fast as he could for
his hole.

As he trotted along beside the lovely young bride, who, by her rich
dress and glittering jewels, seemed to be some king's daughter, he
kept saying to himself, 'How clever I am!  What bargains I do make, to
be sure!'

When they arrived at his hole, the Rat stepped forward with the
greatest politeness, and said, 'Welcome, madam, to my humble abode!
Pray step in, or if you will allow me, and as the passage is somewhat
dark, I will show you the way.'

[Illustration:  The rat at the palanquin]

Whereupon he ran in first, but after a time, finding the bride did not
follow, he put his nose out again, saying testily, 'Well, madam, why
don't you follow?  Don't you know it's rude to keep your husband
waiting?'

'My good sir,' laughed the handsome young bride, 'I can't squeeze into
that little hole!'

The Rat coughed; then after a moment's thought he replied, 'There is
some truth in your remark--you _are_ overgrown, and I suppose I
shall have to build you a thatch somewhere.  For to-night you can rest
under that wild plum-tree.'

'But I am so hungry!' said the bride ruefully.

'Dear, dear! everybody seems hungry to-day!' returned the Rat
pettishly; 'however, that's easily settled--I'll fetch you some supper
in a trice.'

So he ran into his hole, returning immediately with an ear of millet
and a dry pea.

'There!' said he, triumphantly, 'isn't that a fine meal?'

'I can't eat that!' whimpered the bride; 'it isn't a mouthful; and I
want rice pottage, and cakes, and sweet eggs, and sugar-drops.  I
shall die if I don't get them!'

'Oh dear me!' cried the Rat in a rage, 'what a nuisance a bride is, to
be sure!  Why don't you eat the wild plums?'

'I can't live on wild plums!' retorted the weeping bride; 'nobody
could; besides, they are only half ripe, and I can't reach them.'

'Rubbish!' cried the Rat; 'ripe or unripe, they must do you for
to-night, and to-morrow you can gather a basketful, sell them in the
city, and buy sugar-drops and sweet eggs to your heart's content!'

So the next morning the Rat climbed up into the plum-tree, and nibbled
away at the stalks till the fruit fell down into the bride's veil.
Then, unripe as they were, she carried them into the city, calling out
through the streets--

  'Green plums I sell! green plums I sell!
  Princess am I, Rat's bride as well!'

As she passed by the palace, her mother the Queen heard her voice,
and, running out, recognised her daughter.  Great were the rejoicings,
for every one thought the poor bride had been eaten by wild beasts.
In the midst of the feasting and merriment, the Rat, who had followed
the Princess at a distance, and had become alarmed at her long
absence, arrived at the door, against which he beat with a big knobby
stick, calling out fiercely, 'Give me my wife! give me my wife!  She
is mine by fair bargain.  I gave a stick and I got a loaf; I gave a
loaf and I got a pipkin; I gave a pipkin and I got a buffalo; I gave a
buffalo and I got a bride.  Give me my wife! give me my wife!'

'La! son-in-law! what a fuss you do make!' said the wily old Queen,
through the door, 'and all about nothing!  Who wants to run away with
your wife?  On the contrary, we are proud to see you, and I only keep
you waiting at the door till we can spread the carpets, and receive
you in style.'

Hearing this, the Rat was mollified, and waited patiently outside
whilst the cunning old Queen prepared for his reception, which she did
by cutting a hole in the very middle of a stool, putting a red-hot
stone underneath, covering it over with a stew-pan-lid, and then
spreading a beautiful embroidered cloth over all.

Then she went to the door, and receiving the Rat with the greatest
respect, led him to the stool, praying him to be seated.

'Dear! dear! how clever I am!  What bargains I do make, to be sure!'
said he to himself as he climbed on to the stool.  'Here I am,
son-in-law to a real live Queen!  What will the neighbours say?'

At first he sat down on the edge of the stool, but even there it was
warm, and after a while he began to fidget, saying, 'Dear me,
mother-in-law! how hot your house is!  Everything I touch seems
burning!'

'You are out of the wind there, my son,' replied the cunning old
Queen; 'sit more in the middle of the stool, and then you will feel
the breeze and get cooler.'

But he didn't! for the stewpan-lid by this time had become so hot,
that the Rat fairly frizzled when he sat down on it; and it was not
until he had left all his tail, half his hair, and a large piece of
his skin behind him, that he managed to escape, howling with pain, and
vowing that never, never, never again would he make a bargain!




THE FAITHFUL PRINCE


Long ago there lived a King who had an only son, by name Prince
Bahrâmgor, who was as splendid as the noonday sun, and as beautiful as
the midnight moon.  Now one day the Prince went a-hunting, and he
hunted to the north, but found no game; he hunted to the south, yet no
quarry arose; he hunted to the east, and still found nothing.  Then he
turned towards the setting sun, when suddenly from a thicket flashed a
golden deer.  Burnished gold were its hoofs and horns, rich gold its
body.  Dazzled by the wonderful sight, the astonished Prince bade his
retainers form a circle round the beautiful strange creature, and so
gradually enclose and secure it.

'Remember,' said the Prince, 'I hold him towards whom the deer may run
to be responsible for its escape, or capture.'

Closer and closer drew the glittering circle of horsemen, while in the
centre stood the golden deer, until, with marvellous speed, it fled
straight towards the Prince, But he was swifter still, and caught it
by the golden horns.  Then the creature found human voice, and cried,
'Let me go, oh!  Prince Bahrâmgor and I will give you countless
treasures!'

But the Prince laughed, saying, 'Not so!  I have gold and jewels
galore, but never a golden deer.'

'Let me go,' pleaded the deer, 'and I will give you more than
treasures!'

'And what may that be?' asked the Prince, still laughing.

'I will give you a ride on my back such as never mortal man rode
before,' replied the deer.

'Done!' cried the gay Prince, vaulting lightly to the deer's back; and
immediately, like a bird from a thicket, the strange glittering
creature rose through the air till it was lost to sight.  For seven
days and seven nights it carried the Prince over all the world, so
that he could see everything like a picture passing below, and on the
evening of the seventh day it touched the earth once more, and
instantly vanished.  Prince Bahrâmgor rubbed his eyes in bewilderment,
for he had never been in such a strange country before.  Everything
seemed new and unfamiliar.  He wandered about for some time looking
for the trace of a house or a footprint, when suddenly from the ground
at his feet popped a wee old man.

'How did you come here? and what are you looking for, my son?' quoth
he politely.

So Prince Bahrâmgor told him how he had ridden thither on a golden
deer, which had disappeared, and how he was now quite lost and
bewildered in this strange country.

'Do not be alarmed, my son,' returned the wee old man; 'it is true you
are in Demonsland, but no one shall hurt you, for I am the demon
Jasdrûl whose life you saved when I was on the earth in the shape of a
golden deer.'

Then the demon Jasdrûl took Prince Bahrâmgor to his house, and treated
him right royally, giving him a hundred keys, and saying, 'These are
the keys of my palaces and gardens.  Amuse yourself by looking at
them, and mayhap somewhere you may find a treasure worth having.'

So every day Prince Bahrâmgor opened a new garden, and examined a new
palace, and in one he found rooms full of gold, and in another jewels,
and in a third rich stuffs, in fact everything the heart could desire,
until he came to the hundredth palace, and that he found was a mere
hovel, full of all poisonous things, herbs, stones, snakes, and
insects.  But the garden in which it stood was by far the most
magnificent of all.  It was seven miles this way, and seven miles
that, full of tall trees and bright flowers, lakes, streams,
fountains, and summer-houses.  Gay butterflies flitted about, and
birds sang in it all day and all night.  The Prince, enchanted,
wandered seven miles this way, and seven miles that, until he was so
tired that he lay down to rest in a marble summer-house, where he
found a golden bed, all spread with silken shawls.  Now while he
slept, the Fairy Princess Shâhpasand, who was taking the air,
fairy-fashion, in the shape of a pigeon, happened to fly over the
garden, and catching sight of the beautiful, splendid, handsome young
Prince, she sank to earth in sheer astonishment at beholding such a
lovely sight, and, resuming her natural shape--as fairies always do
when they touch the ground--she stooped over the young man and gave
him a kiss.

He woke up in a hurry, and what was his astonishment on seeing the
most beautiful Princess in the world kneeling gracefully beside him!

'Dearest Prince!' cried the maiden, clasping her hands,'I have been
looking for you everywhere!'

Now the very same thing befell Prince Bahrâmgor that had happened to
the Princess Shâhpasand--that is to say, no sooner did he set eyes on
her than he fell desperately in love, and so, of course, they agreed
to get married without any delay.  Nevertheless, the Prince thought it
best first to consult his host, the demon Jasdrûl, seeing how powerful
he was in Demonsland.  To the young man's delight, the demon not only
gave his consent, but appeared greatly pleased, rubbing his hands and
saying, 'Now you will remain with me and be so happy that you will
never think of returning to your own country any more.'

So Prince Bahrâmgor and the Fairy Princess Shâhpasand were married,
and lived ever so happily, for ever so long a time.

At last the thought of the home he had left came back to the Prince,
and he began to think longingly of his father the King, his mother the
Queen, and of his favourite horse and hound.  Then from thinking of
them he fell to speaking of them to the Princess, his wife, and then
from speaking he took to sighing and sighing and refusing his dinner,
until he became quite pale and thin.  Now the demon Jasdrûl used to
sit every night in a little echoing room below the Prince and
Princess's chamber, and listen to what they said, so as to be sure
they were happy; and when he heard the Prince talking of his far-away
home on the earth, he sighed too, for he was a kindhearted demon, and
loved his handsome young Prince.

At last he asked Prince Bahrâmgor what was the cause of his growing so
pale and sighing so often--for so amiable was the young man that he
would rather have died of grief than have committed the rudeness of
telling his host he was longing to get away; but when he was asked he
said piteously, 'Oh, good demon! let me go home and see my father the
King, my mother the Queen, my horse and my hound, for I am very
weary.  Let me and my Princess go, or assuredly I shall die!'

At first the demon refused, but at last he took pity on the Prince,
and said, 'Be it so; nevertheless you will soon repent and long to be
back in Demonsland; for the world has changed since you left it, and
you will have trouble.  Take this hair with you, and when you need
help, burn it, then I will come immediately to your assistance.'

Then the demon Jasdrûl said a regretful goodbye, and, Hey presto!--
Prince Bahrâmgor found himself standing outside his native city, with
his beautiful bride beside him.

But, alas! as the good-natured demon had foretold, everything was
changed.  His father and mother were both dead, a usurper sat on the
throne, and had put a price on Bahrâmgor's head should he ever return
from his mysterious journey.  Luckily no one recognised the young
Prince (so much had he changed during his residence in Demonsland)
save his old huntsman, who, though overjoyed to see his master once
more, said it was as much as his life was worth to give the Prince
shelter; still, being a faithful servant, he agreed to let the young
couple live in the garret of his house.

'My old mother, who is blind,' he said, 'will never see you coming and
going; and as you used to be fond of sport, you can help me to hunt,
as I used to help you.'

So the splendid Prince Bahrâmgor and his lovely Princess hid in the
garret of the huntsman's house, and no one knew they were there.  Now
one fine day, when the Prince had gone out to hunt, as servant to the
huntsman, Princess Shâhpasand took the opportunity of washing her
beautiful golden hair, which hung round her ivory neck and down to her
pretty ankles like a shower of sunshine, and when she had washed it
she combed it, and set the window ajar so that the breeze might blow
in and dry her hair.

Just at this moment the Chief Constable of the town happened to pass
by, and hearing the window open, looked up and saw the lovely
Shâhpasand, with her glittering golden hair.  He was so overcome at
the sight that he fell right off his horse into the gutter.  His
servants, thinking he had a fit, picked him up and carried him back to
his house, where he never ceased raving about a beautiful fairy with
golden hair in the huntsman's garret.  This set everybody wondering
whether he had been bewitched, and the story meeting the King's ear,
he sent down some soldiers to make inquiries at the huntsman's house.

'No one lives here!' said the huntsman's cross old mother, 'no
beautiful lady, nor ugly one either, nor any person at all, save me
and my son.  However, go to the garret and look for yourselves.'

Hearing these words of the old woman, Princess Shâhpasand bolted the
door, and, seizing a knife, cut a hole in the wooden roof.  Then,
taking the form of a pigeon, she flew out, so that when the soldiers
burst open the door they found no one in the garret.

The poor Princess was greatly distressed at having to leave her
beautiful young Prince in this hurried way, and as she flew past the
blind old crone she whispered in her ear, 'I go to my father's house
in the Emerald Mountain.'

In the evening when Prince Bahrâmgor returned from hunting, great was
his grief at finding the garret empty!  Nor could the blind old crone
tell him much of what had occurred; still, when he heard of the
mysterious voice which whispered, 'I go to my father's house in the
Emerald Mountain,' he was at first somewhat comforted.  Afterwards,
when he reflected that he had not the remotest idea where the Emerald
Mountain was to be found, he fell into a very sad state, and casting
himself on the ground he sobbed and sighed; he refused his dinner, and
never ceased crying, 'Oh, my dearest Princess! my dearest Princess!'

At last he remembered the magic hair, and taking it from its
hiding-place threw it into the fire.  It had scarcely begun to burn
when, Hey presto!--the demon Jasdrûl appeared, and asked him what he
wanted.

'Show me the way to the Emerald Mountain,' cried the Prince.

Then the kind-hearted demon shook his head sorrowfully, saying, 'You
would never reach it alive, my son.  Be guided by me,--forget all that
has passed, and begin a new life.'

'I have but one life,' answered the faithful Prince, 'and that is gone
if I lose my dearest Princess!  As I must die, let me die seeking
her.'

Then the demon Jasdrûl was touched by the constancy of the splendid
young Prince, and promised to aid him as far as possible.  So he
carried the young man back to Demonsland, and giving him a magic wand,
bade him travel over the country until he came to the demon Nanâk
Chand's house.

'You will meet with many dangers by the way,' said his old friend,
'but keep the magic wand in your hand day and night, and nothing will
harm you.  That is all I can do for you, but Nanâk Chand, who is my
elder brother, can help you farther on your way.'

So Prince Bahrâmgor travelled through Demonsland, and because he held
the magic wand in his hand day and night, no harm came to him.  At
last he arrived at the demon Nanâk Chand's house, just as the demon
had awakened from sleep, which, according to the habit of demons, had
lasted for twelve years.  Naturally he was desperately hungry, and on
catching sight of the Prince, thought what a dainty morsel he would be
for breakfast; nevertheless, though his mouth watered, the demon
restrained his appetite when he saw the wand, and asked the Prince
politely what he wanted.  But when the demon Nanâk Chand had heard the
whole story, he shook his head, saying, 'You will never reach the
Emerald Mountain, my son.  Be guided by me,--forget all that has
passed, and begin a new life.'

Then the splendid young Prince answered as before, 'I have but one
life, and that is gone if I lose my dearest Princess!  If I must die,
let me die seeking her.'

This answer touched the demon Nanâk Chand, and he gave the faithful
Prince a box of powdered antimony, and bade him travel on through
Demonsland till he came to the house of the great demon Safed.  'For,'
said he, 'Safed is my eldest brother, and if anybody can do what you
want, he will.  If you are in need, rub the powder on your eyes, and
whatever you wish near will be near, but whatever you wish far will be
far.'

So the constant Prince travelled on through all the dangers and
difficulties of Demonsland, till he reached the demon Safed's house,
to whom he told his story, showing the powder and the magic wand,
which had brought him so far in safety.

But the great demon Safed shook his head, saying, 'You will never
reach the Emerald Mountain alive, my son.  Be guided by me,--forget
all that has passed, and begin a new life.'

Still the faithful Prince gave the same answer, 'I have but one life,
and that is gone if I lose my dearest Princess!  If I must die, let me
die seeking her.'

Then the great demon nodded his head approvingly, and said, 'You are a
brave lad, and I must do my best for you.  Take this _yech_-cap:
whenever you put it on you will become invisible.  Journey to the
north, and after a while in the far distance you will see the Emerald
Mountain.  Then put the powder on your eyes and wish the mountain
near, for it is an enchanted hill, and the farther you climb the
higher it grows.  On the summit lies the Emerald City:  enter it by
means of your invisible cap, and find the Princess--if you can.'

So the Prince journeyed joyfully to the north, until in the far far
distance he saw the glittering Emerald Mountain.  Then he rubbed the
powder on his eyes, and behold! what he desired was near, and the
Emerald City lay before him, looking as if it had been cut out of a
single jewel.  But the Prince thought of nothing save his dearest
Princess, and wandered up and down the gleaming city protected by his
invisible cap.  Still he could not find her.  The fact was, the
Princess Shâhpasand's father had locked her up inside seven prisons,
for fear she should fly away again, for he doated on her, and was in
terror lest she should escape back to earth and her handsome young
Prince, of whom she never ceased talking.

'If your husband comes to you, well and good,' said the old man, 'but
you shall never go back to him.'

So the poor Princess wept all day long inside her seven prisons, for
how could mortal man ever reach the Emerald Mountain?

Now the Prince, whilst roaming disconsolately about the city, noticed
a servant woman who every day at a certain hour entered a certain door
with a tray of sweet dishes on her head.  Being curious, he took
advantage of his invisible cap, and when she opened the door he
slipped in behind her.  Nothing was to be seen but a large door,
which, after shutting and locking the outer one, the servant opened.
Again Prince Bahrâmgor slipped in behind her, and again saw nothing
but a huge door.  And so on he went through all the seven doors, till
he came to the seventh prison, and there sat the beautiful Princess
Shâhpasand, weeping salt tears.  At the sight of her he could scarcely
refrain from flinging himself at her feet, but remembering that he was
invisible, he waited till the servant after putting down the tray
retired, locking all the seven prisons one by one.  Then he sat down
by the Princess and began to eat out of the same dish with her.

She, poor thing, had not the appetite of a sparrow, and scarcely ate
anything, so when she saw the contents of the dish disappearing, she
thought she must be dreaming.  But when the whole had vanished, she
became convinced some one was in the room with her, and cried out
faintly, 'Who eats in the same dish with me?'

Then Prince Bahrâmgor lifted the _yech_-cap from his forehead, so
that he was no longer quite invisible, but showed like a figure seen
in early dawn.  At this the Princess wept bitterly, calling him by
name, thinking she had seen his ghost, but as he lifted the
_yech_-cap more and more, and, growing from a shadow to real
flesh and blood, clasped her in his arms, her tears changed to radiant
smiles.

Great was the astonishment of the servant next day when she found the
handsome young Prince seated beside his dearest Princess.  She ran to
tell the King, who, on hearing the whole story from his daughter's
lips, was very much pleased at the courage and constancy of Prince
Bahrâmgor, and ordered Princess Shâhpasand to be released at once;
'For,' he said, 'now her husband has found his way to her, my daughter
will not want to go to him.'

Then he appointed the Prince to be his heir, and the faithful Prince
Bahrâmgor and his beautiful bride lived happily ever afterwards in the
Emerald kingdom.




THE BEAR'S BAD BARGAIN


[Illustration:  The woodman in front of his hut]

Once upon a time, a very old woodman lived with his very old wife in a
tiny hut close to the orchard of a rich man,--so close that the
boughs of a pear-tree hung right over the cottage yard.  Now it was
agreed between the rich man and the woodman, that if any of the fruit
fell into the yard, the old couple were to be allowed to eat it; so
you may imagine with what hungry eyes they watched the pears ripening,
and prayed for a storm of wind, or a flock of flying foxes, or
anything which would cause the fruit to fall.  But nothing came, and
the old wife, who was a grumbling, scolding old thing, declared they
would infallibly become beggars.  So she took to giving her husband
nothing but dry bread to eat, and insisted on his working harder than
ever, till the poor old soul got quite thin; and all because the pears
would not fall down!  At last, the woodman turned round and declared
he would not work any more unless his wife gave him _khichrî_ to
his dinner; so with a very bad grace the old woman took some rice and
pulse, some butter and spices, and began to cook a savoury
_khichrî_.  What an appetising smell it had, to be sure!  The
woodman was for gobbling it up as soon as ever it was ready.  'No,
no,' cried the greedy old wife, 'not till you have brought me in
another load of wood; and mind it is a good one.  You must work for
your dinner.'

So the old man set off to the forest and began to hack and to hew with
such a will that he soon had quite a large bundle, and with every
faggot he cut he seemed to smell the savoury _khichrî_ and think
of the feast that was coming.

Just then a bear came swinging by, with its great black nose tilted in
the air, and its little keen eyes peering about; for bears, though
good enough fellows on the whole, are just dreadfully inquisitive.

'Peace be with you, friend!' said the bear, 'and what may you be going
to do with that remarkably large bundle of wood?'

'It is for my wife,' returned the woodman.  'The fact is,' he added
confidentially, smacking his lips, 'she has made _such_ a
_khichrî_ for dinner! and if I bring in a good bundle of wood she
is pretty sure to give me a plentiful portion.  Oh, my dear fellow,
you should just smell that _khichrî_!'

At this the bear's mouth began to water, for, like all bears, he was a
dreadful glutton.

[Illustration:  The woodman talking to the bear]

'Do you think your wife would give me some too, if I brought her a
bundle of wood?' he asked anxiously.

'Perhaps; if it was a very big load,' answered the woodman craftily.

'Would--would four hundredweight be enough?' asked the bear.

'I'm afraid not,' returned the woodman, shaking his head; 'you see
_khichrî>_ is an expensive dish to make,--there is rice in it,
and plenty of butter, and pulse, and--'

'Would--would eight hundredweight do?'

'Say half a ton, and it's a bargain!' quoth the woodman.

'Half a ton is a large quantity!' sighed the bear.

'There is saffron in the _khichrî_,' remarked the woodman
casually.

The bear licked his lips, and his little eyes twinkled with greed and
delight.

'Well, it's a bargain!  Go home sharp and tell your wife to keep the
_khichrî_ hot; I'll be with you in a trice.'

Away went the woodman in great glee to tell his wife how the bear had
agreed to bring half a ton of wood in return for a share of the
_khichrî_.

Now the wife could not help allowing that her husband had made a good
bargain, but being by nature a grumbler, she was determined not to be
pleased, so she began to scold the old man for not having settled
exactly the share the bear was to have; 'For,' said she, 'he will
gobble up the potful before we have finished our first helping.'

On this the woodman became quite pale.  'In that case,' he said, 'we
had better begin now, and have a fair start.'  So without more ado
they squatted down on the floor, with the brass pot full of
_khichrî_ between them, and began to eat as fast as they could.

'Remember to leave some for the bear, wife,' said the woodman,
speaking with his mouth crammed full.

'Certainly, certainly,' she replied, helping herself to another
handful.

'My dear,' cried the old woman in her turn, with her mouth so full
that she could hardly speak, 'remember the poor bear!'

'Certainly, certainly, my love!' returned the old man, taking another
mouthful.

So it went on, till there was not a single grain left in the pot.

'What's to be done now?' said the woodman; 'it is all your fault,
wife, for eating so much.'

'My fault!' retorted his wife scornfully, 'why, you ate twice as much
as I did!'

'No, I didn't!'

'Yes, you did!--men always eat more than women.'

'No, they don't!'

'Yes, they do!'

'Well, it's no use quarrelling about it now,' said the woodman,' the
_khichrî_'s gone, and the bear will be furious.'

'That wouldn't matter much if we could get the wood,' said the greedy
old woman.  'I'll tell you what we must do,--we must lock up
everything there is to eat in the house, leave the _khichrî_ pot
by the fire, and hide in the garret.  When the bear comes he will
think we have gone out and left his dinner for him.  Then he will
throw down his bundle and come in.  Of course he will rampage a little
when he finds the pot is empty, but he can't do much mischief, and I
don't think he will take the trouble of carrying the wood away.'

So they made haste to lock up all the food and hide themselves in the
garret.

Meanwhile the bear had been toiling and moiling away at his bundle of
wood, which took him much longer to collect than he expected; however,
at last he arrived quite exhausted at the woodcutter's cottage.
Seeing the brass _khichrî_ pot by the fire, he threw down his
load and went in.  And then--mercy! wasn't he angry when he found
nothing in it--not even a grain of rice, nor a tiny wee bit of pulse,
but only a smell that was so uncommonly nice that he actually cried
with rage and disappointment.  He flew into the most dreadful temper,
but though he turned the house topsy-turvy, he could not find a morsel
of food.  Finally, he declared he would take the wood away again, but,
as the crafty old woman had imagined, when he came to the task, he did
not care, even for the sake of revenge, to carry so heavy a burden.

'I won't go away empty-handed,' said he to himself, seizing the
_khichrî_ pot; 'if I can't get the taste I'll have the smell!'

Now, as he left the cottage, he caught sight of the beautiful golden
pears hanging over into the yard.  His mouth began to water at once,
for he was desperately hungry, and the pears were the first of the
season; in a trice he was on the wall, up the tree, and, gathering the
biggest and ripest one he could find, was just putting it into his
mouth, when a thought struck him.

'If I take these pears home I shall be able to sell them for ever so
much to the other bears, and then with the money I shall be able to
buy some _khichrî_.  Ha, ha!  I shall have the best of the
bargain after all!'

So saying, he began to gather the ripe pears as fast as he could and
put them into the _khichrî_ pot, but whenever he came to an
unripe one he would shake his head and say, 'No one would buy that,
yet it is a pity to waste it' So he would pop it into his mouth and
eat it, making wry faces if it was very sour.

Now all this time the woodman's wife had been watching the bear
through a crevice, and holding her breath for fear of discovery; but,
at last, what with being asthmatic, and having a cold in her head, she
could hold it no longer, and just as the _khichrî_ pot was quite
full of golden ripe pears, out she came with the most tremendous
sneeze you ever heard--'_A-h-chc-u!_'

The bear, thinking some one had fired a gun at him, dropped the
_khichrî_ pot into the cottage yard, and fled into the forest as
fast as his legs would carry him.

So the woodman and his wife got the _khichrî_, the wood, and the
coveted pears, but the poor bear got nothing but a very bad
stomach-ache from eating unripe fruit.




PRINCE LIONHEART AND HIS THREE FRIENDS


Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who would have been as
happy as the day was long had it not been for this one
circumstance,--they had no children.

At last an old _fakîr_, or devotee, coming to the palace, asked
to see the Queen, and giving her some barleycorns, told her to eat
them and cease weeping, for in nine months she would have a beautiful
little son.  The Queen ate the barleycorns, and sure enough after nine
months she bore the most charming, lovely, splendid Prince that ever
was seen, who was called Lionheart, because he was so brave and so
strong.

Now when he grew up to man's estate, Prince Lionheart grew restless
also, and was for ever begging his father the King to allow him to
travel in the wide world and seek adventures.  Then the King would
shake his head, saying _only_ sons were too precious to be turned
adrift; but at last, seeing the young Prince could think of nothing
else, he gave his consent, and Prince Lionheart set off on his
travels, taking no one with him but his three companions, the
Knifegrinder, the Blacksmith, and the Carpenter.

Now when these four valiant young men had gone a short distance, they
came upon a magnificent city, lying deserted and desolate in the
wilderness.  Passing through it they saw tall houses, broad bazaars,
shops still full of goods, everything pointing to a large and wealthy
population; but neither in street nor house was a human being to be
seen.  This astonished them very much, until the Knifegrinder,
clapping his hand to his forehead, said, 'I remember!  This must be
the city I have heard about, where a demon lives who will let no one
dwell in peace.  We had best be off!'

'Not a bit of it!' cried Prince Lionheart.  'At any rate not until
I've had my dinner, for I am just desperately hungry!'

So they went to the shops, and bought all they required, laying the
proper price for each thing on the counters just as if the shopkeepers
had been there.  Then going to the palace, which stood in the middle
of the town, Prince Lionheart bade the Knifegrinder prepare the
dinner, while he and his other companions took a further look at the
city.

No sooner had they set off, than the Knifegrinder, going to the
kitchen, began to cook the food.  It sent up a savoury smell, and the
Knifegrinder was just thinking how nice it would taste, when he saw a
little figure beside him, clad in armour, with sword and lance, riding
on a gaily-caparisoned mouse.

'Give me my dinner!' cried the mannikin, angrily shaking his lance.

'_Your_ dinner!  Come, that is a joke!' quoth the Knifegrinder,
laughing.

'Give it me at once!' cried the little warrior in a louder voice, 'or
I'll hang you to the nearest _pîpal_ tree!'

'Wah! whipper-snapper!' replied the valiant Knifegrinder, 'come a
little nearer, and let me squash you between finger and thumb!'

At these words the mannikin suddenly shot up into a terribly tall
demon, whereupon the Knifegrinder's courage disappeared, and, falling
on his knees, he begged for mercy.  But his piteous cries were of no
use, for in a trice he was hung to the topmost branch of the
_pîpal_ tree.

'I'll teach 'em to cook in my kitchen!' growled the demon, as he
gobbled up all the cakes and savoury stew.  When he had finished every
morsel he disappeared.

Now the Knifegrinder wriggled so desperately that the _pîpal_
branch broke, and he came crashing through the tree to the ground,
without much hurt beyond a great fright and a few bruises.  However,
he was so dreadfully alarmed that he rushed into the sleeping-room,
and rolling himself up in his quilt, shook from head to foot as if he
had the ague.

By and by in came Prince Lionheart and his companions, all three as
hungry as hunters, crying, 'Well, jolly Knifegrinder! where's the
dinner?'

Whereupon he groaned out from under his quilt, 'Don't be angry, for
it's nobody's fault; only just as it was ready I got a fit of ague,
and as I lay shivering and shaking a dog came in and walked off with
everything.'

He was afraid that if he told the truth his companions would think him
a coward for not fighting the demon.

'What a pity!' cried the Prince, 'but we must just cook some more.
Here! you Blacksmith! do you prepare the dinner, while the Carpenter
and I have another look at the city.'

Now, no sooner had the Blacksmith begun to sniff the savoury smell,
and think how nice the cakes and stew would taste, than the little
warrior appeared to him also.  And he was quite as brave at first as
the Knifegrinder had been, and afterwards he too fell on his knees and
prayed for mercy.  In fact everything happened to him as it had
happened to the Knifegrinder, and when he fell from the tree he too
fled into the sleeping-room, and rolling himself in his quilt began to
shiver and shake; so that when Prince Lionheart and the Carpenter came
back, hungry as hunters, there was no dinner.

Then the Carpenter stayed behind to cook, but he fared no better than
the two others, so that when hungry Prince Lionheart returned there
were three sick men, shivering and shaking under their quilts, and no
dinner.  Whereupon the Prince set to work to cook his food himself.

No sooner had it begun to give off a savoury smell than the tiny
mouse-warrior appeared, very fierce and valiant.

'Upon my word, you are really a very pretty little fellow!' said the
Prince in a patronising way; 'and what may you want?'

'Give me my dinner!' shrieked the mannikin.

'It is not _your_ dinner, my dear sir, it is _my_ dinner!'
quoth the Prince; 'but to avoid disputes let's fight it out.'

Upon this the mouse-warrior began to stretch and grow till he became a
terribly tall demon.  But instead of falling on his knees and begging
for mercy, the Prince only burst into a fit of laughter, and said, 'My
good sir! there is a medium in all things!  Just now you were
ridiculously small, at present you are absurdly big; but, as you seem
to be able to alter your size without much trouble, suppose for once
in a way you show some spirit, and become just my size, neither less
nor more; then we can settle whose dinner it really is.'

The demon could not withstand the Prince's reasoning, so he shrank to
an ordinary size, and setting to work with a will, began to tilt at
the Prince in fine style.  But valiant Lionheart never yielded an
inch, and finally, after a terrific battle, slew the demon with his
sharp sword.

Then guessing at the truth he roused his three sick friends, saying
with a smile, 'O ye valiant ones! arise, for I have killed the ague!'

And they got up sheepishly, and fell to praising their leader for his
incomparable valour.

After this, Prince Lionheart sent messages to all the inhabitants of
the town who had been driven away by the wicked demon, telling them
they could return and dwell in safety, on condition of their taking
the Knifegrinder as their king, and giving him their richest and most
beautiful maiden as a bride.

This they did with great joy, but when the wedding was over, and
Prince Lionheart prepared to set out once more on his adventures, the
Knifegrinder threw himself before his master, begging to be allowed to
accompany him.  Prince Lionheart, however, refused the request,
bidding him remain to govern his kingdom, and at the same time gave
him a barley plant, bidding him tend it very carefully; since so long
as it flourished he might be assured his master was alive and well.
If, on the contrary, it drooped, then he might know that misfortune
was at hand, and set off to help if he chose.

So the Knifegrinder king remained behind with his bride and his barley
plant, but Prince Lionheart, the Blacksmith, and the Carpenter set
forth on their travels.

By and by they came to another desolate city, lying deserted in the
wilderness, and as before they wandered through it, wondering at the
tall palaces, the empty streets, and the vacant shops where never a
human being was to be seen, until the Blacksmith, suddenly
recollecting, said, 'I remember now!  This must be the city where the
dreadful ghost lives which kills every one.  We had best be off!'

'After we have had our dinners!' quoth hungry Lionheart.

So having bought all they required from a vacant shop, putting the
proper price of everything on the counter, since there was no
shopkeeper, they repaired to the palace, where the Blacksmith was
installed as cook, whilst the others looked through the town.

No sooner had the dinner begun to give off an appetising smell than
the ghost appeared in the form of an old woman, awful and forbidding,
with black wrinkled skin, and feet turned backwards.

At this sight the valiant Blacksmith never stopped to parley, but fled
into another room and bolted the door.  Whereupon the ghost ate up the
dinner in no time, and disappeared; so that when Prince Lionheart and
the Carpenter returned, as hungry as hunters, there was no dinner to
be found, and no Blacksmith.

Then the Prince bade the Carpenter do the cooking while he went abroad
to see the town.  But the Carpenter fared no better, for the ghost
appeared to him also, so that he fled and locked himself up in another
room.

'This is really too bad!' quoth Prince Lionheart, when he returned to
find no dinner, no Blacksmith, no Carpenter.  So he began to cook the
food himself, and ho sooner had it given out a savoury smell than the
ghost arrived; this time, however, seeing so handsome a young man
before her she would not assume her own hag-like shape, but appeared
instead as a beautiful young woman.

However, the Prince was not in the least bit deceived, for he looked
down at her feet, and when he saw they were set on hind side before,
he knew at once what she was; so drawing his sharp strong sword, he
said, 'I must trouble you to take your own shape again, as I don't
like killing beautiful young women!'

At this the ghost shrieked with rage, and changed into her own
loathsome form once more; but at the same moment Prince Lionheart gave
one stroke of his sword, and the horrible, awful thing lay dead at his
feet.

Then the Blacksmith and the Carpenter crept out of their
hiding-places, and the Prince sent messages to all the townsfolk,
bidding them come back and dwell in peace, on condition of their
making the Blacksmith king, and giving him to wife the prettiest, the
richest, and the best-born maiden in the city.

To this they consented with one accord, and after the wedding was
over, Prince Lionheart and the Carpenter set forth once more on their
travels.  The Blacksmith king was loath to let them go without him,
but his master gave him also a barley plant, saying, 'Water and tend
it carefully; for so long as it flourishes you may rest assured I am
well and happy; but if it droops, know that I am in trouble, and come
to help me.'

Prince Lionheart and the Carpenter had not journeyed far ere they came
to a big town, where they halted to rest; and as luck would have it
the Carpenter fell in love with the fairest maiden in the city, who
was as beautiful as the moon and all the stars.  He began to sigh and
grumble over the good fortune of the Knifegrinder and the Blacksmith,
and wish that he too could find a kingdom and a lovely bride, until
his master took pity on him, and sending for the chief inhabitants,
told them who he was, and ordered them to make the Carpenter king, and
marry him to the maiden of his choice.

This order they obeyed, for Prince Lionheart's fame had been noised
abroad, and they feared his displeasure; so when the marriage was
over, and the Carpenter duly established as king, Prince Lionheart
went forth on his journey alone, after giving a barley plant, as he
had done before, by which his prosperity or misfortune might be known.

Having journeyed for a long time, he came at last to a river, and as
he sat resting on the bank, what was his astonishment to see a ruby of
enormous size floating down the stream!  Then another, and another
drifted past him, each of huge size and glowing hue!  Wonderstruck, he
determined to find out whence they came.  So he travelled up stream
for two days and two nights, watching the rubies sweep by in the
current, until he came to a beautiful marble palace built close to the
water's edge.  Gay gardens surrounded it, marble steps led down to the
river, where, on a magnificent tree which stretched its branches over
the stream, hung a golden basket.  Now if Prince Lionheart had been
wonderstruck before, what was his astonishment when he saw that the
basket contained the head of the most lovely, the most beautiful, the
most perfect young Princess that ever was seen!  The eyes were closed,
the golden hair fluttered in the breeze, and every minute from the
slender throat a drop of crimson blood fell into the water, and
changing into a ruby, drifted down the stream!

Prince Lionheart was overcome with pity at this heartrending sight;
tears rose to his eyes, and he determined to search through the palace
for some explanation of the beautiful mysterious head.

So he wandered through richly-decorated marble halls, through carved
galleries and spacious corridors, without seeing a living creature,
until he came to a sleeping-room hung with silver tissue, and there,
on a white satin bed, lay the headless body of a young and beautiful
girl!  One glance convinced him that it belonged to the exquisite head
he had seen swinging in the golden basket by the river-side, and,
urged by the desire to see the two lovely portions united, he set off
swiftly to the tree, soon returning with the basket in his hand.  He
placed the head gently on the severed throat, when, lo and behold!
they joined together in a trice and the beautiful maiden started up to
life once more.  The Prince was overjoyed, and, falling on his knees,
begged the lovely girl to tell him who she was, and how she came to be
alone in the mysterious palace.  She informed him that she was a
king's daughter, with whom a wicked Jinn had fallen in love, in
consequence of which passion he had carried her off by his magical
arts:  and being desperately jealous, never left her without first
cutting off her head, and hanging it up in the golden basket until his
return.

Prince Lionheart, hearing this cruel story, besought the beautiful
Princess to fly with him without delay, but she assured him they must
first kill the Jinn, or they would never succeed in making their
escape.  So she promised to coax the Jinn into telling her the secret
of his life, and in the meantime bade the Prince cut off her head once
more, and replace it in the golden basket, so that her cruel gaoler
might not suspect anything.

The poor Prince could hardly bring himself to perform so dreadful a
task, but seeing it was absolutely necessary, he shut his eyes from
the heartrending sight, and with one blow of his sharp bright sword
cut off his dear Princess's head, and after returning the golden
basket to its place, hid himself in a closet hard by the
sleeping-room.

By and by the Jinn arrived, and, putting on the Princess's head once
more, cried angrily, 'Fee! fa! fum!  This room smells of man's flesh!'

Then the Princess pretended to weep, saying, 'Do not be angry with me,
good Jinn, for how can I know aught?  Am I not dead whilst you are
away?  Eat me if you like, but do not be angry with me!'

Whereupon the Jinn, who loved her to distraction, swore he would
rather die himself than kill her.

'That would be worse for me!' answered the girl, 'for if you were to
die while you are away from here, it would be very awkward for me:  I
should be neither dead nor alive.'

'Don't distress yourself!' returned the Jinn; 'I am not likely to be
killed, for my life lies in something very safe.'

'I hope so, I am sure!' replied the Princess,' but I believe you only
say that to comfort me.  I shall never be content until you tell me
where it lies, then I can judge for myself if it is safe.'

At first the Jinn refused, but the Princess coaxed and wheedled so
prettily, and he began to get so very sleepy, that at last he replied,
'I shall never be killed except by a Prince called Lionheart; nor by
him unless he can find the solitary tree, where a dog and a horse keep
sentinel day and night.  Even then he must pass these warders unhurt,
climb the tree, kill the starling which sits singing in a golden cage
on the topmost branch, tear open its crop, and destroy the bumble bee
it contains.  So I am safe; for it would need a lion's heart, or great
wisdom, to reach the tree and overcome its guardians.'

'How are they to be overcome?' pleaded the Princess; 'tell me that,
and I shall be satisfied.'

The Jinn, who was more than half asleep, and quite tired of being
cross-questioned, answered drowsily, 'In front of the horse lies a
heap of bones, and in front of the dog a heap of grass.  Whoever takes
a long stick and changes the heaps, so that the horse has grass, and
the dog bones, will have no difficulty in passing.'

The Prince, overhearing this, set off at once to find the solitary
tree, and ere long discovered it, with a savage horse and furious dog
keeping watch and ward over it.  They, however, became quite mild and
meek when they received their proper food, and the Prince without any
difficulty climbed the tree, seized the starling, and began to twist
its neck.  At this moment the Jinn, awakening from sleep, became aware
of what was passing, and flew through the air to do battle for his
life.  The Prince, however, seeing him approach, hastily cut open the
bird's crop, seized the bumble bee, and just as the Jinn was alighting
on the tree, tore off the insect's wings.  The Jinn instantly fell to
the ground with a crash, but, determined to kill his enemy, began to
climb.  Then the Prince twisted off the bee's legs, and lo! the Jinn
became legless also; and when the bee's head was torn off, the Jinn's
life went out entirely.

So Prince Lionheart returned in triumph to the Princess, who was
overjoyed to hear of her tyrant's death.  He would have started at
once with her to his father's kingdom, but she begged for a little
rest, so they stayed in the palace, examining all the riches it
contained.

Now one day the Princess went down to the river to bathe, and wash her
beautiful golden hair, and as she combed it, one or two long strands
came out in the comb, shining and glittering like burnished gold.  She
was proud of her beautiful hair, and said to herself, 'I will not
throw these hairs into the river, to sink in the nasty dirty mud,' so
she made a green cup out of a _pîpal_ leaf, coiled the golden
hairs inside, and set it afloat on the stream.

It so happened that the river, farther down, flowed past a royal city,
and the King was sailing in his pleasure-boat, when he espied
something sparkling like sunlight on the water, and bidding his
boatmen row towards it, found the _pîpal_ leaf cup and the
glittering golden hairs.

He thought he had never before seen anything half so beautiful, and
determined not to rest day or night until he had found the owner.
Therefore he sent for the wisest women in his kingdom, in order to
find out where the owner of the glistening golden hair dwelt.

The first wise woman said, 'If she is on Earth I promise to find her.'

The second said, 'If she is in Heaven I will tear open the sky and
bring her to you.'

But the third laughed, saying, 'Pooh! if you tear open the sky I will
put a patch in it, so that none will be able to tell the new piece
from the old.'

The King, considering the last wise woman had proved herself to be the
cleverest, engaged her to seek for the beautiful owner of the
glistening golden hair.

Now as the hairs had been found in the river, the wise woman guessed
they must have floated down stream from some place higher up, so she
set off in a grand royal boat, and the boatmen rowed and rowed until
at last they came in sight of the Jinn's magical marble palace.

Then the cunning wise woman went alone to the steps of the palace, and
began to weep and to wail.  It so happened that as Prince Lionheart
had that day gone out hunting, the Princess was all alone, and having
a tender heart, she no sooner heard the old woman weeping than she
came out to see what was the matter.

'Mother,' said she kindly, 'why do you weep?'

'My daughter,' cried the wise woman, 'I weep to think what will become
of you if the handsome Prince is slain by any mischance, and you are
left here in the wilderness alone.'  For the witch knew by her arts
all about the Prince.

'Very true!' replied the Princess, wringing her hands; 'what a
dreadful thing it would be!  I never thought of it before!'

All day long she wept over the idea, and at night, when the Prince
returned, she told him of her fears; but he laughed at them, saying
his life lay in safety, and it was very unlikely any mischance should
befall him.

Then the Princess was comforted; only she begged him to tell her
wherein it lay, so that she might help to preserve it.

'It lies,' returned the Prince, 'in my sharp sword, which never
fails.  If harm were to come to it I should die; nevertheless, by fair
means naught can prevail against it, so do not fret, sweetheart!'

'It would be wiser to leave it safe at home when you go hunting,'
pleaded the Princess, and though Prince Lionheart told her again there
was no cause to be alarmed, she made up her mind to have her own way,
and the very next morning, when the Prince went a-hunting, she hid his
strong sharp sword, and put another in the scabbard, so that he was
none the wiser.

Thus when the wise woman came once more and wept on the marble stairs,
the Princess called to her joyfully, 'Don't cry, mother!--the Prince's
life is safe to-day.  It lies in his sword, and that is hidden away in
my cupboard.'

Then the wicked old hag waited until the Princess took her noonday
sleep, and when everything was quiet she stole to the cupboard, took
the sword, made a fierce fire, and placed the sharp shining blade in
the glowing embers.  As it grew hotter and hotter, Prince Lionheart
felt a burning fever creep over his body, and knowing the magical
property of his sword, drew it out to see if aught had befallen it,
and lo! it was not his own sword but a changeling!  He cried aloud, 'I
am undone!  I am undone!' and galloped homewards.  But the wise woman
blew up the fire so quickly that the sword became red-hot ere Prince
Lionheart could arrive, and just as he appeared on the other side of
the stream, a rivet came out of the sword hilt, which rolled off, and
so did the Prince's head.

Then the wise woman, going to the Princess, said, 'Daughter! see how
tangled your beautiful hair is after your sleep!  Let me wash and
dress it against your husband's return.'  So they went down the marble
steps to the river; but the wise woman said, 'Step into my boat,
sweetheart; the water is clearer on the farther side.'

And then, whilst the Princess's long golden hair was all over her eyes
like a veil, so that she could not see, the wicked old hag loosed the
boat, which went drifting down stream.

In vain the Princess wept and wailed; all she could do was to make a
great vow, saying, 'O you shameless old thing!  You are taking me away
to some king's palace, I know; but no matter who he may be, I swear
not to look on his face for twelve years!'

At last they arrived at the royal city, greatly to the King's delight;
but when he found how solemn an oath the Princess had taken, he built
her a high tower, where she lived all alone.  No one save the hewers
of wood and drawers of water were allowed even to enter the courtyard
surrounding it, so there she lived and wept over her lost Lionheart.

Now when the Prince's head had rolled off in that shocking manner, the
barley plant he had given to the Knifegrinder king suddenly snapped
right in two, so that the ear fell to the ground.

This greatly troubled the faithful Knifegrinder, who immediately
guessed some terrible disaster had overtaken his dear Prince.  He
gathered an army without delay, and set off in aid, meeting on the way
with the Blacksmith and the Carpenter kings, who were both on the same
errand.  When it became evident that the three barley plants had
fallen at the selfsame moment, the three friends feared the worst, and
were not surprised when, after long journeying, they found the
Prince's body, all burnt and blistered, lying by the river-side, and
his head close to it.  Knowing the magical properties of the sword,
they looked for it at once, and when they found a changeling in its
place their hearts sank indeed!  They lifted the body, and carried it
to the palace, intending to weep and wail over it, when, lo! they
found the real sword, all blistered and burnt, in a heap of ashes, the
rivet gone, the hilt lying beside it.

'That is soon mended!' cried the Blacksmith king; so he blew up the
fire, forged a rivet, and fastened the hilt to the blade.  No sooner
had he done so than the Prince's head grew to his shoulders as firm as
ever.

'My turn now!' quoth the Knifegrindcr king; and he spun his wheel so
deftly that the blisters and stains disappeared like magic, and the
sword was soon as bright as ever.  And as he spun his wheel, the burns
and scars disappeared likewise from Prince Lionheart's body, until at
last the Prince sat up alive, as handsome as before.

'Where is my Princess?' he cried, the very first thing, and then told
his friends of all that had passed.

'It is my turn now!' quoth the Carpenter king gleefully; 'give me your
sword, and I will fetch the Princess back in no time.'

So he set off with the bright strong sword in his hand to find the
lost Princess.  Ere long he came to the royal city, and noticing a
tall new-built tower, inquired who dwelt within.  When the townspeople
told him it was a strange Princess, who was kept in such close
imprisonment that no one but hewers of wood and drawers of water were
allowed even to enter the courtyard, he was certain it must be she
whom he sought.  However, to make sure, he disguised himself as a
woodman, and going beneath the windows, cried, 'Wood! wood!  Fifteen
gold pieces for this bundle of wood!'

The Princess, who was sitting on the roof, taking the air, bade her
servant ask what sort of wood it was to make it so expensive.

'It is only firewood,' answered the disguised Carpenter,' but it was
cut with this sharp bright sword!'

Hearing these words, the Princess, with a beating heart, peered
through the parapet, and recognised Prince Lionheart's sword.  So she
bade her servant inquire if the woodman had anything else to sell, and
he replied that he had a wonderful flying palanquin, which he would
show to the Princess, if she wished it, when she walked in the garden
at evening.

She agreed to the proposal, and the Carpenter spent all the day in
fashioning a marvellous palanquin.  This he took with him to the tower
garden, saying, 'Seat yourself in it, my Princess, and try how well it
flies.'

But the King's sister, who was there, said the Princess must not go
alone, so she got in also, and so did the wicked wise woman.  Then the
Carpenter king jumped up outside, and immediately the palanquin began
to fly higher and higher, like a bird.

'I have had enough!--let us go down,' said the King's sister after a
time.

Whereupon the Carpenter seized her by the waist, and threw her
overboard, just as they were sailing above the river, so that she was
drowned; but he waited until they were just above the high tower
before he threw down the wicked wise woman, so that she got finely
smashed on the stones.

Then the palanquin flew straight to the Jinn's magical marble palace,
where Prince Lionheart, who had been awaiting the Carpenter king's
arrival with the greatest impatience, was overjoyed to see his
Princess once more, and set off, escorted by his three companion
kings, to his father's dominions.  But when the poor old King, who had
very much aged since his son's departure, saw the three armies coming,
he made sure they were an invading force, so he went out to meet them,
and said, 'Take all my riches, but leave my poor people in peace, for
I am old, and cannot fight.  Had my dear brave son Lionheart been with
me, it would have been a different affair, but he left us years ago,
and no one has heard aught of him since.'

On this, the Prince flung himself on his father's neck, and told him
all that had occurred, and how these were his three old friends--the
Knifegrinder, the Blacksmith, and the Carpenter.  This greatly
delighted the old man; but when he saw the golden-haired bride his son
had brought home, his joy knew no bounds.

So everybody was pleased, and lived happily ever after.




THE LAMBIKIN


[Illustration:  Lambikin surrounded by vicious animals]

Once upon a time there was a wee wee Lambikin, who frolicked about on
his little tottery legs, and enjoyed himself amazingly.

Now one day he set off to visit his Granny, and was jumping with joy
to think of all the good things he should get from her, when whom
should he meet but a Jackal, who looked at the tender young morsel and
said--'Lambikin!  Lambikin!  I'll _eat_ _you_!'

But Lambikin only gave a little frisk, and said--

  'To Granny's house I go,
  Where I shall fatter grow,
  Then you can eat me so.'

The Jackal thought this reasonable, and let
Lambikin pass.

By and by he met a Vulture, and the Vulture, looking hungrily at the
tender morsel before him, said--'Lambikin!  Lambikin!  I'll _eat_
_you_!'

But Lambikin only gave a little frisk, and said--

  'To Granny's house I go,
  Where I shall fatter grow,
  Then you can eat me so.'

The Vulture thought this reasonable, and let
Lambikin pass.

And by and by he met a Tiger, and then a Wolf, and a Dog, and an
Eagle, and all these, when they saw the tender little morsel, said--
'Lambikin!  Lambikin!  I'll _eat_ _you_!'

But to all of them Lambikin replied, with a little frisk--

  'To Granny's house I go,
  Where I shall fatter grow,
  Then you can eat me so.'

At last he reached his Granny's house, and said, all in a great hurry,
'Granny, dear, I've promised to get very fat; so, as people ought to
keep their promises, please put me into the corn-bin _at once!_

So his Granny said he was a good boy, and put him into the corn-bin,
and there the greedy little Lambikin stayed for seven days, and ate,
and ate, and ate, until he could scarcely waddle, and his Granny said
he was fat enough for anything, and must go home.  But cunning little
Lambikin said that would never do, for some animal would be sure to
eat him on the way back, he was so plump and tender.

'I'll tell you what you must do,' said Master Lambikin,' you must make
a little drumikin out of the skin of my little brother who died, and
then I can sit inside and trundle along nicely, for I'm as tight as a
drum myself.'

So his Granny made a nice little drumikin out of his brother's skin,
with the wool inside, and Lambikin curled himself up snug and warm in
the middle, and trundled away gaily.  Soon he met with the Eagle, who
called out--

  'Drumikin!  Drumikin!
  Have you seen Lambikin?'

And Mr. Lambikin, curled up in his soft warm nest, replied--

  'Lost in the forest, and so are you,
  On, little Drumikin!  Tum-pa, tum-too!'

'How very annoying!' sighed the Eagle, thinking regretfully of the
tender morsel he had let slip.

Meanwhile Lambikin trundled along, laughing to himself, and singing--

  'Tum-pa, tum-too;
  Tum-pa, tum-too!'

Every animal and bird he met asked him the same question--

  'Drumikin!  Drumikin!
  Have you seen Lambikin?'

And to each of them the little sly-boots replied--

  'Lost in the forest, and so are you,
  On, little Drumikin!  Tum-pa, tum-too;
  Tum-pa, turn-too; Tum-pa, tum-too!'

Then they all sighed to think of the tender little morsel they had let
slip.

At last the Jackal came limping along, for all his sorry looks as
sharp as a needle, and he too called out--

  'Drumikin!  Drumikin!
  Have you seen Lambikin?'

And Larnbikin, curled up in his snug little nest, replied gaily--

  'Lost in the forest, and so are you,
  On, little Drumikin!  Tum-pa--'

But he never got any further, for the Jackal recognised his voice at
once, and cried, 'Hullo! you've turned yourself inside out, have you?
Just you come out of that!'

Whereupon he tore open Drumikin and gobbled up Lambikin.




BOPOLÛCHÎ


Once upon a time a number of young girls went to draw water at the
village well, and while they were filling their jars, fell a-talking
of their betrothals and weddings.

Said one--'My uncle will soon be coming with the bridal presents, and
he is to bring the finest clothes imaginable.'

Said a second--'And my uncle-in-law is coming, I know, bringing the
most delicious sweetmeats you could think of.'

Said a third--'Oh, my uncle will be here in no time, with the rarest
jewels in the world.'

But Bopolûchî, the prettiest girl of them all, looked sad, for she was
an orphan, and had no one to arrange a marriage for her.  Nevertheless
she was too proud to remain silent, so she said gaily--'And my uncle
is coming also, bringing me fine dresses, fine food, and fine jewels.'

Now a wandering pedlar, who sold sweet scents and cosmetics of all
sorts to the country women, happened to be sitting near the well, and
heard what Bopolûchî said.  Being much struck by her beauty and
spirit, he determined to marry her himself, and the very next day,
disguised as a well-to-do farmer, he came to Bopolûchî's house laden
with trays upon trays full of fine dresses, fine food, and fine
jewels; for he was not a real pedlar, but a wicked robber, ever so
rich.

Bopolûchî could hardly believe her eyes, for everything was just as
she had foretold, and the robber said he was her father's brother, who
had been away in the world for years, and had now come back to arrange
her marriage with one of his sons, her cousin.

Hearing this, Bopolûchî of course believed it all, and was ever so
much pleased; so she packed up the few things she possessed in a
bundle, and set off with the robber in high spirits.

But as they went along the road, a crow sitting on a branch croaked--

  'Bopolûchî, 'tis a pity!
  You have lost your wits, my pretty!
  'Tis no uncle that relieves you,
  But a robber who deceives you!'

'Uncle!' said Bopolûchî, 'that crow croaks funnily.  What does it
say?'

'Pooh!' returned the robber, 'all the crows in this country croak like
that.'

A little farther on they met a peacock, which, as soon as it caught
sight of the pretty little maiden, began to scream--

     'Bopolûchî, 'tis a pity!
     You have lost your wits, my pretty!
     'Tis no uncle that relieves you,
     But a robber who deceives you!'

'Uncle!' said the girl, 'that peacock screams funnily.  What does it
say?'

'Pooh!' returned the robber, 'all peacocks scream like that in this
country.'

By and by a jackal slunk across the road; the moment it saw poor
pretty Bopolûchî it began to howl--

  'Bopolûchî, 'tis a pity!
  You have lost your wits, my pretty!
  'Tis no uncle that relieves you,
  But a robber who deceives you!'

'Uncle!' said the maiden, 'that jackal howls funnily.  What does it
say?'

'Pooh!' returned the robber, 'all jackals howl like that in this
country.'

So poor pretty Bopolûchî journeyed on till they reached the robber's
house.  Then he told her who he was, and how he intended to marry her
himself.  She wept and cried bitterly, but the robber had no pity, and
left her in charge of his old, oh! ever so old mother, while he went
out to make arrangements for the marriage feast.

Now Bopolûchî had such beautiful hair that it reached right down to
her ankles, but the old mother hadn't a hair on her old bald head.

'Daughter!' said the old, ever so old. mother, as she was putting the
bridal dress on Bopolûchî, 'how did you manage to get such beautiful
hair?'

'Well,' replied Bopolûchî, 'my mother made it grow by pounding my head
in the big mortar for husking rice.  At every stroke of the pestle my
hair grew longer and longer.  I assure you it is a plan that never
fails.'

'Perhaps it would make _my_ hair grow!' said the old woman
eagerly.

'Perhaps it would!' quoth cunning Bopolûchî.

So the old, ever so old mother put her head in the mortar, and
Bopolûchî pounded away with such a will that the old lady died.

Then Bopolûchî dressed the dead body in the scarlet bridal dress,
seated it on the low bridal chair, drew the veil well over the face,
and put the spinning-wheel in front of it, so that when the robber
came home he might think it was the bride.  Then she put on the old
mother's clothes, and seizing her own bundle, stepped out of the house
as quickly as possible.

On her way home she met the robber, who was returning with a stolen
millstone, to grind the corn for the wedding feast, on his head.  She
was dreadfully frightened, and slipped behind the hedge, so as not to
be seen.  But the robber, not recognising her in the old mother's
dress, thought she was some strange woman from a neighbouring village,
and so to avoid being seen he slipped behind the other hedge.  Thus
Bopolûchî reached home in safety.

Meanwhile, the robber, having come to his house, saw the figure in
bridal scarlet sitting on the bridal chair, spinning, and of course
thought it was Bopolûchî.  So he called to her to help him down with
the millstone, but she didn't answer.  He called again, but still she
didn't answer.  Then he fell into a rage, and threw the millstone at
her head.  The figure toppled over, and lo and behold! it was not
Bopolûchî at all, but his old, ever so old mother!  Whereupon the
robber wept, and beat his breast, thinking he had killed her; but when
he discovered pretty Bopolûchî had run away, he became wild with rage,
and determined to bring her back somehow.

[Illustration:  Bopolûchî and the robber]

Now Bopolûchî was convinced that the robber would try to carry her
off, so every night she begged a new lodging in some friend's house,
leaving her own little bed in her own little house quite empty, but
after a month or so she had come to the end of her friends, and did
not like to ask any of them to give her shelter a second time.  So she
determined to brave it out and sleep at home, whatever happened; but
she took a bill-hook to bed with her.  Sure enough, in the very middle
of the night four men crept in, and each seizing a leg of the bed,
lifted it up and walked off, the robber himself having hold of the leg
close behind her head.  Bopolûchî was wide awake, but pretended to be
fast asleep, until she came to a wild deserted spot, where the thieves
were off their guard; then she whipped out the bill-hook, and in a
twinkling cut off the heads of the two thieves at the foot of the
bed.  Turning round quickly, she did the same to the other thief at
the head, but the robber himself ran away in a terrible fright, and
scrambled like a wild cat up a tree close by before she could reach
him.

'Come down!' cried brave Bopolûchî, brandishing the bill-hook, 'and
fight it out!'

But the robber would not come down; so Bopolûchî gathered all the
sticks she could find, piled them round the tree, and set fire to
them.  Of course the tree caught fire also, and the robber, half
stifled with the smoke, tried to jump down, and was killed.

After that, Bopolûchî went to the robber's house and carried off all
the gold and silver, jewels and clothes, that were hidden there,
coming back to the village so rich that she could marry any one she
pleased.  And that was the end of Bopolûchî's adventures.




PRINCESS AUBERGINE


Once upon a time there lived a poor Brahman and his wife, so poor,
that often they did not know whither to turn for a meal, and were
reduced to wild herbs and roots for their dinner.

Now one day, as the Brahman was gathering such herbs as he could find
in the wilderness, he came upon an Aubergine, or egg-plant.  Thinking
it might prove useful by and by, he dug it up, took it home, and
planted it by his cottage door.  Every day he watered and tended it,
so that it grew wonderfully, and at last bore one large fruit as big
as a pear, purple and white and glossy,--such a handsome fruit, that
the good couple thought it a pity to pick it, and let it hang on the
plant day after day, until one fine morning when there was absolutely
nothing to eat in the house.  Then the Brahman said to his wife, 'We
must eat the egg-fruit; go and cut it, and prepare it for dinner.'

So the Brahman's wife took a knife, and cut the beautiful purple and
white fruit off the plant, and as she did so she thought she heard a
low moan.  But when she sat down and began to peel the egg-fruit, she
heard a tiny voice say quite distinctly, 'Take care!--oh, please take
care!  Peel more gently, or I am sure the knife will run into me!'

The good woman was terribly perplexed, but went on peeling as gently
as she could, wondering all the time what had bewitched the egg-fruit,
until she had cut quite through the rind, when--what do you think
happened?  Why, out stepped the most beautiful little maiden
imaginable, dressed in purple and white satin!

The poor Brahman and his wife were mightily astonished, but still more
delighted; for, having no children of their own, they looked on the
tiny maiden as a godsend, and determined to adopt her.  So they took
the greatest care of her, petting and spoiling her, and always calling
her the Princess Aubergine; for, said the worthy couple, if she was
not a Princess _really_, she was dainty and delicate enough to be
any king's daughter.

Now not far from the Brahman's hut lived a King, who had a beautiful
wife, and seven stalwart young sons.  One day, a slave-girl from the
palace, happening to pass by the Brahman's cottage, went in to ask for
a light, and there she saw the beautiful Aubergine.  She went straight
home to the palace, and told her mistress how in a hovel close by
there lived a Princess so lovely and charming, that were the King once
to set eyes on her, he would straightway forget, not only his Queen,
but every other woman in the world.

Now the Queen, who was of a very jealous disposition, could not bear
the idea of any one being more beautiful than she was herself, so she
cast about in her mind how she could destroy the lovely Aubergine.  If
she could only inveigle the girl into the palace, she could easily do
the rest, for she was a sorceress, and learned in all sorts of magic.
So she sent a message to the Princess Aubergine, to say that the fame
of her great beauty had reached the palace, and the Queen would like
to see with her own eyes if report said true.

Now lovely Aubergine was vain of her beauty, and fell into the trap.
She went to the palace, and the Queen, pretending to be wonderstruck,
said, 'You were born to live in kings' houses!  From this time you
must never leave me; henceforth you are my sister.'

This flattered Princess Aubergine's vanity, so, nothing loath, she
remained in the palace, and exchanged veils with the Queen, and drank
milk out of the same cup with her, as is the custom when two people
say they will be sisters.

But the Queen, from the very first moment she set eyes on her, had
seen that Princess Aubergine was no human being, but a fairy, and knew
she must be very careful how she set about her magic.  Therefore she
laid strong spells upon her while she slept, and said--

  'Beautiful Aubergine! tell me true--
  In what thing does your life lie?'

And the Princess answered--'In the life of your eldest son.  Kill him,
and I will die also.'

So the very next morning the wicked Queen went to where her eldest son
lay sleeping, and killed him with her own hands.  Then she sent the
slave-girl to the Princess's apartments, hoping to hear she was dead
too, but the girl returned saying the Princess was alive and well.

Then the Queen wept tears of rage, for she knew her spells had not
been strong enough, and she had killed her son for naught.
Nevertheless, the next night she laid stronger spells upon the
Princess Aubergine, saying--

  'Princess Aubergine! tell me true--
  In what thing does your life lie?'

And the sleeping Princess answered--'In the life of your second son.
Kill him, and I too will die.'

So the wicked Queen killed her second son with her own hands, but when
she sent the slave-girl to see whether Aubergine was dead also, the
girl returned again saying the Princess was alive and well.

Then the sorceress-queen cried with rage and spite, for she had killed
her second son for naught.  Nevertheless, she would not give up her
wicked project, and the next night laid still stronger spells on the
sleeping Princess, asking her--

  'Princess Aubergine! tell me true--
  In what thing does your life lie?'

And the Princess replied--'In the life of your third son.  Kill him,
and I must die also!'

But the same thing happened.  Though the young Prince was killed by
his wicked mother, Aubergine remained alive and well; and so it went
on day after day, until all the seven young Princes were slain, and
their cruel mother still wept tears of rage and spite, at having
killed her seven sons for naught.

Then the sorceress-queen summoned up all her art, and laid such strong
spells on the Princess Aubergine that she could no longer resist them,
and was obliged to answer truly; so when the wicked Queen asked--

  'Princess Aubergine! tell me true--
  In what thing does your life lie?'

the poor Princess was obliged to answer--'In a river far away there
lives a red and green fish.  Inside the fish there is a bumble bee,
inside the bee a tiny box, and inside the box is the wonderful
nine-lakh necklace.  Put it on, and I shall die.'

Then the Queen was satisfied, and set about finding the red and green
fish.  Therefore, when her husband the King came to see her, she began
to sob and to cry, until he asked her what was the matter.  Then she
told him she had set her heart on procuring the wonderful nine-lakh
necklace.

'But where is it to be found?' asked the King.

And the Queen answered in the words of the Princess Aubergine,--'In a
river far away there lives a red and green fish.  Inside the fish
there is a bumble bee, inside the bee a tiny box, and in the box is
the nine-lakh necklace.'

Now the King was a very kind man, and had grieved sincerely for the
loss of his seven young sons, who, the Queen said, had died suddenly
of an infectious disease.  Seeing his wife so distressed, and being
anxious to comfort her, he gave orders that every fisherman in his
kingdom was to fish all day until the red and green fish was found.
So all the fishermen set to work, and ere long the Queen's desire was
fulfilled--the red and green fish was caught, and when the wicked
sorceress opened it, there was the bumble bee, and inside the bee was
the box, and inside the box the wonderful nine-lakh necklace, which
the Queen put on at once.

Now no sooner had the Princess Aubergine been forced to tell the
secret of her life by the Queen's magic, than she knew she must die;
so she returned sadly to her foster-parents' hut, and telling them of
her approaching death, begged them neither to burn nor bury her body.
'This is what I wish you to do,' she said; 'dress me in my finest
clothes, lay me on my bed, scatter flowers over me, and carry me to
the wildest wilderness.  There you must place the bed on the ground,
and build a high mud wall around it, so that no one will be able to
see over.'

The poor foster-parents, weeping bitterly, promised to do as she
wished; so when the Princess died (which happened at the very moment
the wicked Queen put on the nine-lakh necklace), they dressed her in
her best clothes, scattered flowers over the bed, and carried her out
to the wildest wilderness.

Now when the Queen sent the slave-girl to the Brâhman's hut to inquire
if the Princess Aubergine was really dead, the girl returned saying,
'She is dead, but neither burnt nor buried; she lies out in the
wilderness to the north, covered with flowers, as beautiful as the
moon!'

The Queen was not satisfied with this reply, but as she could do no
more, had to be content.

Now the King grieved bitterly for his seven young sons, and to try to
forget his grief he went out hunting every day; so the Queen, who
feared lest in his wanderings he might find the dead Princess
Aubergine, made him promise never to hunt towards the north, for, she
said, 'some evil will surely befall you it you do.'

But one day, having hunted to the east, and the south, and the west,
without finding game, he forgot his promise, and hunted towards the
north.  In his wanderings he lost his way, and came upon a high
enclosure, with no door; being curious to know what it contained, he
climbed over the wall.  He could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw
a lovely Princess lying on a flower-strewn bed, looking as if she had
just fallen asleep.  It seemed impossible she could be dead, so,
kneeling down beside her, he spent the whole day praying and
beseeching her to open her eyes.  At nightfall he returned to his
palace, but with the dawning he took his bow, and, dismissing all his
attendants on the pretext of hunting alone, flew to his beautiful
Princess.  So he passed day after day, kneeling distractedly beside
the lovely Aubergine, beseeching her to rise; but she never stirred.

Now at the end of a year he, one day, found the most beautiful little
boy imaginable lying beside the Princess.  He was greatly astonished,
but taking the child in his arms, cared for it tenderly all day, and
at night laid it down beside its dead mother.  After some time the
child learnt to talk, and when the King asked it if its mother was
always dead, it replied, 'No! at night she is alive, and cares for me
as you do during the day.'

Hearing this, the King bade the boy ask his mother what made her die,
and the next day the boy replied, 'My mother says it is the nine-lakh
necklace your Queen wears.  At night, when the Queen takes it off, my
mother becomes alive again, but every morning, when the Queen puts it
on, my mother dies.'

This greatly puzzled the King, who could not imagine what his Queen
could have to do with the mysterious Princess, so he told the boy to
ask his mother whose son he was.

The next morning the boy replied, 'Mother bade me say I am your son,
sent to console you for the loss of the seven fair sons your wicked
Queen murdered out of jealousy of my mother, the lovely Princess
Aubergine.'

Then the King grew very wroth at the thought of his dead sons, and
bade the boy ask his mother how the wicked Queen was to be punished,
and by what means the necklace could be recovered.

The next morning the boy replied, 'Mother says I am the only person
who can recover the necklace, so to-night, when you return to the
palace, you are to take me with you.'  So the King carried the boy
back to the palace, and told all his ministers and courtiers that the
child was his heir.  On this, the sorceress-queen, thinking of her own
dead sons, became mad with jealousy, and determined to poison the
boy.  To this end she prepared some tempting sweetmeats, and,
caressing the child, gave him a handful, bidding him eat them; but the
child refused, saying he would not do so until she gave him the
glittering necklace she wore round her throat, to play with.

Determined to poison the boy, and seeing no other way of inducing him
to eat the sweetmeats, the sorceress-queen slipped off the nine-lakh
necklace, and gave it to the child.  No sooner had he touched it than
he fled away so fast that none of the servants or guards could stop
him, and never drew breath till he reached the place where the
beautiful Princess Aubergine lay dead.  He threw the necklace over her
head, and immediately she rose up lovelier than ever.  Then the King
came, and besought her to return to the palace as his bride, but she
replied, 'I will never be your wife till that wicked sorceress is
dead, for she would only murder me and my boy, as she murdered your
seven young sons.  If you will dig a deep ditch at the threshold of
the palace, fill it with scorpions and snakes, throw the wicked Queen
into it, and bury her alive, I will walk over her grave to be your
wife.'

So the King ordered a deep ditch to be dug, and had it filled with
scorpions and snakes.  Then he went to the sorceress-queen, and bade
her come to see something very wonderful.  But she refused, suspecting
a trick.  Then the guards seized her, bound her, flung her into the
ditch amongst the scorpions and snakes, and buried her alive with
them.  As for the Princess Aubergine, she and her son walked over the
grave, and lived happily in the palace ever after.




VALIANT VICKY, THE BRAVE WEAVER


Once upon a time there lived a little weaver, by name Victor Prince,
but because his head was big, his legs thin, and he was altogether
small, and weak, and ridiculous, his neighbours called him
Vicky--Little Vicky the Weaver.

But despite his size, his thin legs, and his ridiculous appearance,
Vicky was very valiant, and loved to _talk_ for hours of his
bravery, and the heroic acts he would perform if Fate gave him an
opportunity.  Only Fate did not, and in consequence Vicky remained
little Vicky the valiant weaver, who was laughed at by all for his
boasting.

Now one day, as Vicky was sitting at his loom, weaving, a mosquito
settled on his left hand just as he was throwing the shuttle from his
right hand, and by chance, after gliding swiftly through the warp, the
shuttle came flying into his left hand on the very spot where the
mosquito had settled, and squashed it.  Seeing this, Vicky became
desperately excited:  'It is as I have always said,' he cried; 'if I
only had the chance I knew I could show my mettle!  Now, I'd like to
know how many people could have done that?  Killing a mosquito is
easy, and throwing a shuttle is easy, but to do both at one time is a
mighty different affair!  It is easy enough to shoot a great hulking
man--there is something to see, something to aim at; then guns and
crossbows are made for shooting; but to shoot a _mosquito_ with a
_shuttle_ is quite another thing.  That requires a man!'

The more he thought over the matter, the more elated he became over
his skill and bravery, until he determined that he would no longer
suffer himself to be called 'Vicky.'  No! now that he had shown his
mettle he would be called 'Victor'--'Victor Prince'--or better still,
'Prince Victor'; that was a name worthy his merits.  But when he
announced this determination to the neighbours, they roared with
laughter, and though some did call him Prince Victor, it was with such
sniggering and giggling and mock reverence that the little man flew
home in a rage.  Here he met with no better reception, for his wife, a
fine handsome young woman, who was tired to death by her ridiculous
little husband's whims and fancies, sharply bade him hold his tongue
and not make a fool of himself.  Upon this, beside himself with pride
and mortification, he seized her by the hair, and beat her most
unmercifully.  Then, resolving to stay no longer in a town where his
merits were unrecognised, he bade her prepare some bread for a
journey, and set about packing his bundle.

'I will go into the world!' he said to himself.  'The man who can
shoot a mosquito dead with a shuttle ought not to hide his light under
a bushel' So off he set, with his bundle, his shuttle, and a loaf of
bread tied up in a kerchief.

Now as he journeyed he came to a city where a dreadful elephant came
daily to make a meal off the inhabitants.  Many mighty warriors had
gone against it, but none had returned.  On hearing this the valiant
little weaver thought to himself, 'Now is my chance!  A great haystack
of an elephant will be a fine mark to a man who has shot a mosquito
with a shuttle!'  So he went to the King, and announced that he
proposed single-handed to meet and slay the elephant.  At first the
King thought the little man was mad, but as he persisted in his words,
he told him that he was free to try his luck if he chose to run the
risk; adding that many better men than he had failed.

Nevertheless, our brave weaver was nothing daunted; he even refused to
take either sword or bow, but strutted out to meet the elephant armed
only with his shuttle.

'It is a weapon I thoroughly understand, good people,' he replied
boastfully to those who urged him to choose some more deadly arm, 'and
it has done its work in its time, I can tell you!'

It was a beautiful sight to see little Vicky swaggering out to meet
his enemy, while the townsfolk flocked to the walls to witness the
fight.  Never was such a valiant weaver till the elephant, descrying
its tiny antagonist, trumpeted fiercely, and charged right at him, and
then, alas! all the little man's courage disappeared, and forgetting
his new name of Prince Victor he dropped his bundle, his shuttle, and
his bread, and bolted away as fast as Vicky's legs could carry him.

Now it so happened that his wife had made the bread ever so sweet, and
had put all sorts of tasty spices in it, because she wanted to hide
the flavour of the poison she had put in it also; for she was a
wicked, revengeful woman, who wanted to be rid of her tiresome,
whimsical little husband.  And so, as the elephant charged past, it
smelt the delicious spices, and catching up the bread with its long
trunk, gobbled it up without stopping an instant.  Meanwhile fear lent
speed to Vicky's short legs, but though he ran like a hare, the
elephant soon overtook him.  In vain he doubled and doubled, and the
beast's hot breath was on him, when in sheer desperation he turned,
hoping to bolt through the enormous creature's legs; being half blind
with fear, however, he ran full tilt against them instead.  Now, as
luck would have it, at that very moment the poison took effect, and
the elephant fell to the ground stone dead.

When the spectators saw the monster fall they could scarcely believe
their eyes, but their astonishment was greater still when, running up
to the scene of action, they found Valiant Vicky seated in triumph on
the elephant's head, calmly mopping his face with his handkerchief.

'I had to pretend to run away,' he explained, 'or the coward would
never have engaged me.  Then I gave him a little push, and he fell
down, as you see.  Elephants are big beasts, but they have no strength
to speak of.'

The good folks were amazed at the careless way in which Valiant Vicky
spoke of his achievement, and as they had been too far off to see very
distinctly what had occurred, they went and told the King that the
little weaver was just a feaiful wee man, and had knocked over the
elephant like a ninepin.  Ihen the King said to himself, 'None of my
warriors and wrestlers, no, not even the heroes of old, could have
done this.  I must secure this little man's services if I can.'  So he
asked Vicky why he was wandering about the world.

[Illustration:  Vicky descending from the dead elephant]

'For pleasure, for service, or for conquest!' returned Valiant Vicky,
laying such stress on the last word that the King, in a great hurry,
made him Commander-in-Chief of his whole army, for fear he should take
service elsewhere.

So there was Valiant Vicky a mighty fine warrior, and as proud as a
peacock of having fulfilled his own predictions.

'I knew it!' he would say to himself when he was dressed out in full
fig, with shining armour and waving plumes, and spears, swords, and
shields; 'I _felt_ I had it in me!'

Now after some time a terribly savage tiger came ravaging the country,
and at last the city-folk petitioned that the mighty Prince Victor
might be sent out to destroy it.  So out he went at the head of his
army,--for he was a great man now, and had quite forgotten all about
looms and shuttles.  But first he made the King promise his daughter
in marriage as a reward.  'Nothing for nothing!' said the astute
little weaver to himself, and when the promise was given he went out
as gay as a lark.

'Do not distress yourselves, good people,' he said to those who
flocked round him praying for his successful return; 'it is ridiculous
to suppose the tiger will have a chance.  Why, I knocked over an
elephant with my little finger!  I am really invincible! *'

But, alas for our Valiant Vicky!  No sooner did he see the tiger
lashing its tail and charging down on him, than he ran for the nearest
tree, and scrambled into the branches.  There he sat like a monkey,
while the tiger glowered at him from below.  Of course when the army
saw their Commander-in-Chief bolt like a mouse, they followed his
example, and never stopped until they reached the city, where they
spread the news that the little hero had fled up a tree.

'There let him stay!' said the King, secretly relieved, for he was
jealous of the little weaver's prowess, and did not want him for a
son-in-law.

Meanwhile, Valiant Vicky sat cowering in the tree, while the tiger
occupied itself below with sharpening its teeth and claws, and curling
its whiskers, till poor Vicky nearly tumbled into its jaws with
fright.  So one day, two days, three days, six days passed by; on the
seventh the tiger was fiercer, hungrier, and more watchful than ever.
As for the poor little weaver, he was so hungry that his hunger made
him brave, and he determined to try and slip past his enemy during its
mid-day snooze.  He crept stealthily down inch by inch, till his foot
was within a yard of the ground, and then?  Why then the tiger, which
had had one eye open all the time, jumped up with a roar!

Valiant Vicky shrieked with fear, and making a tremendous effort,
swung himself into a branch, cocking his little bandy legs over it to
keep them out of reach, for the tiger's red panting mouth and gleaming
white teeth were within half an inch of his toes.  In doing so, his
dagger fell out of its sheath, and went pop into the tiger's wide-open
mouth, and thus point foremost down into its stomach, so that it died!

Valiant Vicky could scarcely believe his good fortune, but, after
prodding at the body with a branch, and finding it did not move, he
concluded the tiger really was dead, and ventured down.  Then he cut
off its head, and went home in triumph to the King.

'You and your warriors are a nice set of cowards!' said he,
wrathfully.  'Here have I been fighting that tiger for seven days and
seven nights, without bite or sup, whilst you have been guzzling and
snoozing at home.  Pah! it's disgusting! but I suppose every one is
not a hero as I am!'  So Prince Victor married the King's daughter,
and was a greater man than ever.

But by and by a neighbouring prince, who bore a grudge against the
King, came with a huge army, and encamped outside the city, swearing
to put every man, woman, and child within it to the sword.  Hearing
this, the inhabitants of course cried with one accord, 'Prince
Victor!  Prince Victor to the rescue!' so the valiant little weaver
was ordered by the King to go out and destroy the invading army, after
which he was to receive half the kingdom as a reward.  Now Valiant
Vicky, with all his boasting, was no fool, and he said to himself,
'This is a very different affair from the others.  A man may kill a
mosquito, an elephant, and a tiger; yet another man may kill
_him_.  And here is not one man, but thousands!  No, no!--what is
the use of half a kingdom if you haven't a head on your shoulders?
Under the circumstances I prefer _not_ to be a hero!'

So in the dead of night he bade his wife rise, pack up her golden
dishes, and follow him--'Not that you will want the golden dishes at
my house,' he explained boastfully, 'for I have heaps and heaps, but
on the journey these will be useful.'  Then he crept outside the city,
followed by his wife carrying the bundle, and began to steal through
the enemy's camp.

Just as they were in the very middle of it, a big cockchafer flew into
Valiant Vicky's face.  'Run! run!' he shrieked to his wife, in a
terrible taking, and setting off as fast as he could, never stopped
till he had reached his room again and hidden under the bed.  His wife
set off at a run likewise, dropping her bundle of golden dishes with a
clang.  The noise roused the enemy, who, thinking they were attacked,
flew to arms; but being half asleep, and the night being pitch-dark,
they could not distinguish friend from foe, and falling on each other,
fought with such fury that by next morning not one was left alive!
And then, as may be imagined, great were the rejoicings at Prince
Victor's prowess.  'It was a mere trifle!' remarked that valiant
little gentleman modestly; 'when a man can shoot a mosquito with a
shuttle, everything else is child's play.'

So he received half the kingdom, and ruled it with great dignity,
refusing ever afterwards to fight, saying truly that kings never
fought themselves, but paid others to fight for them.

Thus he lived in peace, and when he died every one said Valiant Vicky
was the greatest hero the world had ever seen.




THE SON OF SEVEN MOTHERS


Once upon a time there lived a King who had seven wives, but no
children.  This was a great grief to him, especially when he
remembered that on his death there would be no heir to inherit the
kingdom.

Now, one day, a poor old _fakîr_ or religious devotee, came to
the King and said, 'Your prayers are heard, your desire shall be
accomplished, and each of your seven queens shall bear a son.'

The King's delight at this promise knew no bounds, and he gave orders
for appropriate festivities to be prepared against the coming event
throughout the length and breadth of the land.

Meanwhile the seven Queens lived luxuriously in a splendid palace,
attended by hundreds of female slaves, and fed to their hearts'
content on sweetmeats and confectionery.

Now the King was very fond of hunting, and one day, before he started,
the seven Queens sent him a message saying, 'May it please our dearest
lord not to hunt towards the north to-day, for we have dreamt bad
dreams, and fear lest evil should befall you.'

The King, to allay their anxiety, promised regard for their wishes,
and set out towards the south; but as luck would have it, although he
hunted diligently, he found no game.  Nor had he greater success to
the east or west, so that, being a keen sportsman, and determined not
to go home empty-handed, he forgot all about his promise, and turned
to the north.  Here also he met at first with no reward, but just as
he had made up his mind to give up for that day, a white hind with
golden horns and silver hoofs flashed past him into a thicket.  So
quickly did it pass, that he scarcely saw it; nevertheless a burning
desire to capture and possess the beautiful strange creature filled
his breast.  He instantly ordered his attendants to form a ring round
the thicket, and so encircle the hind; then, gradually narrowing the
circle, he pressed forward till he could distinctly see the white hind
panting in the midst.  Nearer and nearer he advanced, when, just as he
thought to lay hold of the beautiful strange creature, it gave one
mighty bound, leapt clean over the King's head, and fled towards the
mountains.  Forgetful of all else, the King, setting spurs to his
horse, followed at full speed.  On, on he galloped, leaving his
retinue far behind, but keeping the white hind in view, and never
drawing bridle, until, finding himself in a narrow ravine with no
outlet, he reined in his steed.  Before him stood a miserable hovel,
into which, being tired after his long unsuccessful chase, he entered
to ask for a drink of water.  An old woman, seated in the hut at a
spinning-wheel, answered his request by calling to her daughter, and
immediately from an inner room came a maiden so lovely and charming,
so white-skinned and golden-haired, that the King was transfixed by
astonishment at seeing so beautiful a sight in the wretched hovel.

She held the vessel of water to the King's lips, and as he drank he
looked into her eyes, and then it became clear to him that the girl
was no other than the white hind with the golden horns and silver feet
he had chased so far.

Her beauty bewitched him completely, and he fell on his knees, begging
her to return with him as his bride; but she only laughed, saying
seven Queens were quite enough even for a King to manage.  However,
when he would take no refusal, but implored her to have pity on him,
and promised her everything she could desire, she replied, 'Give me
the eyes of your seven wives, and then perhaps I may believe that you
mean what you say.'

The King was so carried away by the glamour of the white hind's
magical beauty, that he went home at once, had the eyes of his seven
Queens taken out, and, after throwing the poor blind creatures into a
noisome dungeon whence they could not escape, set off once more for
the hovel in the ravine, bearing with him his loathsome offering.  But
the white hind only laughed cruelly when she saw the fourteen eyes,
and threading them as a necklace, flung it round her mother's neck,
saying, 'Wear that, little mother, as a keepsake, whilst I am away in
the King's palace.'

Then she went back with the bewitched monarch as his bride, and he
gave her the seven Queens' rich clothes and jewels to wear, the seven
Queens' palace to live in, and the seven Queens' slaves to wait upon
her; so that she really had everything even a witch could desire.

Now, very soon after the seven wretched, hapless Queens were cast into
prison, the first Queen's baby was born.  It was a handsome boy, but
the Queens were so desperately hungry that they killed the child at
once, and, dividing it into seven portions, ate it.  All except the
youngest Queen, who saved her portion secretly.

The next day the second Queen's baby was born, and they did the same
with it, and with all the babies in turn, one after the other, until
the seventh and youngest Queen's baby was born on the seventh day.
But when the other six Queens came to the young mother, and wanted to
take it away, saying, 'Give us your child to eat, as you have eaten
ours!' she produced the six pieces of the other babies untouched, and
answered, 'Not so! here are six pieces for you; eat them, and leave my
child alone.  You cannot complain, for you have each your fair share,
neither more nor less.'

Now, though the other Queens were very jealous that the youngest
amongst them should by forethought and self-denial have saved her
baby's life, they could say nothing; for, as the young mother had told
them, they received their full share.  And though at first they
disliked the handsome little boy, he soon proved so useful to them,
that ere long they all looked on him as their son.  Almost as soon as
he was born he began scraping at the mud wall of their dungeon, and in
an incredibly short space of time had made a hole big enough for him
to crawl through.  Through this he disappeared, returning in an hour
or so laden with sweetmeats, which he divided equally amongst the
seven blind Queens.

As he grew older he enlarged the hole, and slipped out two or three
times every day to play with the little nobles in the town.  No one
knew who the tiny boy was, but everybody liked him, and he was so full
of funny tricks and antics, so merry and bright, that he was sure to
be rewarded by some girdle-cakes, a handful of parched grain, or some
sweetmeats.  All these things he brought home to his seven mothers, as
he loved to call the seven blind Queens, who by his help lived on in
their dungeon when all the world thought they had starved to death
ages before.

At last, when he was quite a big lad, he one day took his bow and
arrow, and went out to seek for game.  Coming by chance upon the
palace where the white hind lived in wicked splendour and
magnificence, he saw some pigeons fluttering round the white marble
turrets, and, taking good aim, shot one dead.  It came tumbling past
the very window where the white Queen was sitting; she rose to see
what was the matter, and looked out.  At the first glance at the
handsome young lad standing there bow in hand, she knew by witchcraft
that it was the King's son.

She nearly died of envy and spite, determining to destroy the lad
without delay; therefore, sending a servant to bring him to her
presence, she asked him if he would sell her the pigeon he had just
shot.

'No,' replied the sturdy lad, 'the pigeon is for my seven blind
mothers, who live in the noisome dungeon, and who would die if I did
not bring them food.'

'Poor souls!' cried the cunning white witch; 'would you not like to
bring them their eyes again?  Give me the pigeon, my dear, and I
faithfully promise to show you where to find them.'

Hearing this, the lad was delighted beyond measure, and gave up the
pigeon at once.  Whereupon the white Queen told him to seek her mother
without delay, and ask for the eyes which she wore as a necklace.

'She will not fail to give them,' said the cruel Queen, 'if you show
her this token on which I have written what I want done.'

So saying, she gave the lad a piece of broken potsherd, with these
words inscribed on it--'Kill the bearer at once, and sprinkle his
blood like water!'

Now, as the son of seven mothers could not read, he took the fatal
message cheerfully, and set off to find the white Queen's mother.

But while he was journeying he passed through a town, where every one
of the inhabitants looked so sad that he could not help asking what
was the matter.  They told him it was because the King's only daughter
refused to marry; so when her father died there would be no heir to
the throne.  They greatly feared she must be out of her mind, for
though every good-looking young man in the kingdom had been shown to
her, she declared she would only marry one who was the son of seven
mothers, and of course no one had ever heard of such a thing.  Still
the King, in despair, had ordered every man who entered the city gates
to be led before the Princess in case she might relent.  So, much to
the lad's impatience, for he was in an immense hurry to find his
mothers' eyes, he was dragged into the presence-chamber.

No sooner did the Princess catch sight of him than she blushed, and,
turning to the King, said, 'Dear father, this is my choice!'

Never were such rejoicings as these few words produced.  The
inhabitants nearly went wild with joy, but the son of seven mothers
said he would not marry the Princess unless they first let him recover
his mothers' eyes.  Now when the beautiful bride heard his story, she
asked to see the potsherd, for she was very learned and clever; so
much so that on seeing the treacherous words, she said nothing, but
taking another similarly-shaped bit of potsherd, wrote on it these
words--'Take care of this lad, give him all he desires,' and returned
it to the son of seven mothers, who, none the wiser, set off on his
quest.

Ere long, he arrived at the hovel in the ravine, where the white
witch's mother, a hideous old creature, grumbled dreadfully on reading
the message, especially when the lad asked for the necklace of eyes.
Nevertheless she took it off, and gave it him, saying,' There are only
thirteen of 'em now, for I ate one last week, when I was hungry.'

The lad, however, was only too glad to get any at all, so he hurried
home as fast as he could to his seven mothers, and gave two eyes
apiece to the six elder Queens; but to the youngest he gave one,
saying, 'Dearest little mother!--I will be your other eye always!'

After this he set off to marry the Princess, as he had promised, but
when passing by the white Queen's palace he again saw some pigeons on
the roof.  Drawing his bow, he shot one, and again it came fluttering
past the window.  Then the white hind looked out, and lo! there was
the King's son alive and well.

She cried with hatred and disgust, but sending for the lad, asked him
how he had returned so soon, and when she heard how he had brought
home the thirteen eyes, and given them to the seven blind Queens, she
could hardly restrain her rage.  Nevertheless she pretended to be
charmed with his success, and told him that if he would give her this
pigeon also, she would reward him with the Jôgi's wonderful
cow, whose milk flows all day long, and makes a pond as big as a
kingdom.  The lad, nothing loath, gave her the pigeon; whereupon, as
before, she bade him go ask her mother for the cow, and gave him a
potsherd whereon was written--'Kill this lad without fail, and
sprinkle his blood like water!'

But on the way, the son of seven mothers looked in on the Princess,
just to tell her how he came to be delayed, and she, after reading the
message on the potsherd, gave him another in its stead; so that when
the lad reached the old hag's hut and asked her for the Jôgi's
cow, she could not refuse, but told the boy how to find it; and,
bidding him of all things not to be afraid of the eighteen thousand
demons who kept watch and ward over the treasure, told him to be off
before she became too angry at her daughter's foolishness in thus
giving away so many good things.

Then the lad did as he had been told bravely.  He journeyed on and on
till he came to a milk-white pond, guarded by the eighteen thousand
demons.  They were really frightful to behold, but, plucking up
courage, he whistled a tune as he walked through them, looking neither
to the right nor the left.  By and by he came upon the Jôgi's cow,
tall, white, and beautiful, while the Jôgi himself, who was king of
all the demons, sat milking her day and night, and the milk streamed
from her udder, filling the milk-white tank.

The Jôgi, seeing the lad, called out fiercely, 'What do you want
here?'

Then the lad answered, according to the old hag's bidding, 'I want
your skin, for King Indra is making a new kettledrum, and says your
skin is nice and tough.'

Upon this the Jôgi began to shiver and shake (for no Jinn or Jôgi
dares disobey King Indra's command), and, falling at the lad's feet,
cried, 'If you will spare me I will give you anything I possess, even
my beautiful white cow!'

To this, the son of seven mothers, after a little pretended
hesitation, agreed, saying that after all it would not be difficult to
find a nice tough skin like the Jôgi's elsewhere; so, driving the
wonderful cow before him, he set off homewards.  The seven Queens were
delighted to possess so marvellous an animal, and though they toiled
from morning till night making curds and whey, besides selling milk to
the confectioners, they could not use half the cow gave, and became
richer and richer day by day.

Seeing them so comfortably off, the son of seven mothers started with
a light heart to marry the Princess; but when passing the white hind's
palace he could not resist sending a bolt at some pigeons which were
cooing on the parapet, and for the third time one fell dead just
beneath the window where the white Queen was sitting.  Looking out,
she saw the lad hale and hearty standing before her, and grew whiter
than ever with rage and spite.

[Illustration:  The son demanding the Jôgi's cow]

She sent for him to ask how he had returned so soon, and when she
heard how kindly her mother had received him, she very nearly had a
fit; however, she dissembled her feelings as well as she could, and,
smiling sweetly, said she was glad to have been able to fulfil her
promise, and that if he would give her this third pigeon, she would do
yet more for him than she had done before, by giving him the
million-fold rice, which ripens in one night.

The lad was of course delighted at the very idea, and, giving up the
pigeon, set off on his quest, armed as before with a potsherd, on
which was written, 'Do not fail this time.  Kill the lad, and sprinkle
his blood like water!'

But when he looked in on his Princess, just to prevent her becoming
anxious about him, she asked to see the potsherd as usual, and
substituted another, on which was written, 'Yet again give this lad
all he requires, for his blood shall be as your blood!'

Now when the old hag saw this, and heard how the lad wanted the
million-fold rice which ripens in a single night, she fell into the
most furious rage, but being terribly afraid of her daughter, she
controlled herself, and bade the boy go and find the field guarded by
eighteen millions of demons, warning him on no account to look back
after having plucked the tallest spike of rice, which grew in the
centre.

So the son of seven mothers set off, and soon came to the field where,
guarded by eighteen millions of demons, the million-fold rice grew.
He walked on bravely, looking neither to the right nor left, till he
reached the centre and plucked the tallest ear; but as he turned
homewards a thousand sweet voices rose behind him, crying in tenderest
accents, 'Pluck me too! oh, please pluck me too!'  He looked back, and
lo! there was nothing left of him but a little heap of ashes!

Now as time passed by and the lad did not return, the old hag grew
uneasy, remembering the message 'his blood shall be as your blood'; so
she set off to see what had happened.

Soon she came to the heap of ashes, and knowing by her arts what it
was, she took a little water, and kneading the ashes into a paste,
formed it into the likeness of a man; then, putting a drop of blood
from her little finger into its mouth, she blew on it, and instantly
the son of seven mothers started up as well as ever.

'Don't you disobey orders again!' grumbled the old hag, 'or next time
I'll leave you alone.  Now be off, before I repent of my kindness!'

So the son of seven mothers returned joyfully to the seven Queens,
who, by the aid of the million-fold rice, soon became the richest
people in the kingdom.  Then they celebrated their son's marriage to
the clever Princess with all imaginable pomp; but the bride was so
clever, she would not rest until she had made known her husband to his
father, and punished the wicked white witch.  So she made her husband
build a palace exactly like the one in which the seven Queens had
lived, and in which the white witch now dwelt in splendour.  Then,
when all was prepared, she bade her husband give a grand feast to the
King.  Now the King had heard much of the mysterious son of seven
mothers, and his marvellous wealth, so he gladly accepted the
invitation; but what was his astonishment when on entering the palace
he found it was a facsimile of his own in every particular!  And when
his host, richly attired, led him straight to the private hall, where
on royal thrones sat the seven Queens, dressed as he had last seen
them, he was speechless with surprise, until the Princess, coming
forward, threw herself at his feet, and told him the whole story.
Then the King awoke from his enchantment, and his anger rose against
the wicked white hind who had bewitched him so long, until he could
not contain himself.  So she was put to death, and her grave ploughed
over, and after that the seven Queens returned to their own splendid
palace, and everybody lived happily.




THE SPARROW AND THE CROW


A sparrow and a crow once agreed to have _khichrî_ for dinner.
So the Sparrow brought rice, and the Crow brought lentils, and the
Sparrow was cook, and when the _khichrî_ was ready, the Crow
stood by to claim his share.

'Who ever heard of any one sitting down to dinner so dirty as you
are?' quoth the Sparrow scornfully.  'Your body is quite black, and
your head looks as if it were covered with ashes.  For goodness
gracious sake, go and wash in the Pond first.'

The Crow, though a little huffy at being called dirty, deemed it best
to comply, for he knew what a determined little person the Sparrow
was; so he went to the Pond, and said--

  'Your name, sir, is Pond,
    But my name is Crow.
  Please give me some water,
    For if you do so
  I can wash beak and feet
    And the nice _khichrî_ eat;
  Though I really don't know
    What the Sparrow can mean,
  For I'm sure, as Crows go,
    I'm remarkably clean!'

[Illustration:  The crow and those he meets]

But the Pond said, 'Certainly I will give you water; but first you
must go to the Deer, and beg him to lend you a horn.  Then with it you
can dig a nice little rill for the water to flow in clean and fresh.'

So the Crow flew to the Deer, and said--

  'Your name, sir, is Deer,
    But my name is Crow.
  Oh, give me a horn, please,
    For if you do so
  I can dig a clean rill
  For the water to fill;
  Then I'll wash beak and feet
  And the nice _khichrî_ eat;
  Though I really don't know
    What the Sparrow can mean,
  For I'm sure, as Crows go,
    I'm remarkably clean!'

But the Deer said, 'Certainly I will give you a horn; but first you
must go to the Cow, and ask her to give you some milk for me to
drink.  Then I shall grow fat, and not mind the pain of breaking my
horn.'

So the Crow flew off to the Cow, and said--

  'Your name, ma'am, is Cow,
    But my name is Crow.
  Oh, give me some milk, please,
    For if you do so
  The pain will be borne,
  Deer will give me his horn,
  And I'll dig a clean rill
  For the water to fill;
  Then I'll wash beak and feet
  And the nice _khichrî_ eat;
  Though I really don't know
    What the Sparrow can mean,
  For I'm sure, as Crows go,
    I'm remarkably clean!'

But the Cow said, 'Certainly I will give you milk, only first you must
bring me some Grass; for who ever heard of a cow giving milk without
grass?'

So the Crow flew to some Grass, and said--

  'Your name, sir, is Grass,
    But my name is Crow.
  Oh, give me some blades, please,
    For if you do so
  Madam Cow will give milk
  To the Deer sleek as silk;
  The pain will be borne,
  He will give me his horn,
  And I'll dig a clean rill
  For the water to fill;
  Then I'll wash beak and feet
  And the nice _khichrî_ eat;
  Though I really don't know
    What the Sparrow can mean,
  For I'm sure, as Crows go,
    I'm remarkably clean!'

But the Grass said, 'Certainly I will give you Grass; but first you
must go to the Blacksmith, and ask him to make you a sickle.  Then you
can cut me, for who ever heard of Grass cutting itself?'

So the Crow went to the Blacksmith, and said--

  'Your name, sir, is Smith,
    But my name is Crow.
  Please give me a sickle,
    For if you do so
  The Grass I can mow
  As food for the Cow;
  Madam Cow will give milk
  To the Deer sleek as silk;
  The pain will be borne,
  He will give me his horn,
  And I'll dig a clean rill
  For the water to fill;
  Then I'll wash beak and feet
  And the nice _khichrî_ eat;
  Though I really don't know
    What the Sparrow can mean,
  For I'm sure, as Crows go,
    I'm remarkably clean!'

'With pleasure,' said the Blacksmith, 'if you will light the fire and
blow the bellows.'

So the Crow began to light the fire, and blow the bellows, but in so
doing he fell right in--to--the--very--middle--of--the--_fire_,
and was burnt!

So that was the end of him, and the Sparrow ate all the
_khichrî_.




THE TIGER, THE BRAHMÂN, AND THE JACKAL


Once upon a time a tiger was caught in a trap.  He tried in vain to
get out through the bars, and rolled and bit with rage and grief when
he failed.

By chance a poor Brâhman came by.  'Let me out of this cage, O pious
one!' cried the tiger.

'Nay, my friend,' replied the Brâhman mildly, 'you would probably eat
me if I did.'

'Not at all!' swore the tiger with many oaths; 'on the contrary, I
should be for ever grateful, and serve you as a slave!'

Now when the tiger sobbed and sighed and wept and swore, the pious
Brâhman's heart softened, and at last he consented to open the door of
the cage.  Out popped the tiger, and, seizing the poor man, cried,
'What a fool you are!  What is to prevent my eating you now, for after
being cooped up so long I am just terribly hungry!'

In vain the Brâhman pleaded for his life; the most he could gain was a
promise to abide by the decision of the first three things he chose to
question as to the justice of the tiger's action.

So the Brâhman first asked a _pîpal_ tree what it thought of the
matter, but the _pîpal_ tree replied coldly, 'What have you to
complain about?  Don't I give shade and shelter to every one who
passes by, and don't they in return tear down my blanches to feed
their cattle?  Don't whimper--be a man!'

Then the Brâhman, sad at heart, went farther afield till he saw a
buffalo turning a well-wheel; but he fared no better from it, for it
answered, 'You are a fool to expect gratitude!  Look at me!  While I
gave milk they fed me on cotton-seed and oil-cake, but now I am dry
they yoke me here, and give me refuse as fodder!'

[Illustration:  Buffalo turning the well-wheel]

The Brâhman, still more sad, asked the road to give him its opinion.

'My dear sir,' said the road, 'how foolish you are to expect anything
else!  Here am I, useful to everybody, yet all, rich and poor, great
and small, trample on me as they go past, giving me nothing but the
ashes of their pipes and the husks of their grain!'

On this the Brâhman turned back sorrowfully, and on the way he met a
jackal, who called out, 'Why, what's the matter, Mr. Brâhman?  You
look as miserable as a fish out of water!'

Then the Brâhman told him all that had occurred.  'How very
confusing!' said the jackal, when the recital was ended; 'would you
mind telling me over again? for everything seems so mixed up!'

The Brâhman told it all over again, but the jackal shook his head in a
distracted sort of way, and still could not understand.

'It's very odd,' said he sadly, 'but it all seems to go in at one ear
and out at the other!  I will go to the place where it all happened,
and then perhaps I shall be able to give a judgment.'

So they returned to the cage, by which the tiger was waiting for the
Brâhman, and sharpening his teeth and claws.

'You've been away a long time!' growled the savage beast, 'but now let
us begin our dinner.'

'_Our_ dinner!' thought the wretched Brâhman, as his knees
knocked together with fright; 'what a remarkably delicate way of
putting it!'

'Give me five minutes, my lord!' he pleaded, 'in order that I may
explain matters to the jackal here, who is somewhat slow in his wits.'

The tiger consented, and the Brâhman began the whole story over again,
not missing a single detail, and spinning as long a yarn as possible.

'Oh, my poor brain! oh, my poor brain!' cried the jackal, wringing his
paws.  'Let me see! how did it all begin?  You were in the cage, and
the tiger came walking by----'

'Pooh!' interrupted the tiger,' what a fool you are! _I_ was in
the cage.'

'Of course!' cried the jackal, pretending to tremble with fright;
'yes!  I was in the cage--no, I wasn't--dear! dear! where are my
wits?  Let me see--the tiger was in the Brâhman, and the cage came
walking by--no, that's not it either!  Well, don't mind me, but begin
your dinner, for I shall never understand!'

'Yes, you shall!' returned the tiger, in a rage at the jackal's
stupidity; 'I'll _make_ you understand!  Look here--I am the
tiger--'

'Yes, my lord!'

'And that is the Brâhman--'

'Yes, my lord!'

'And that is the cage--'

'Yes, my lord!'

'And I was in the cage--do you understand?'

'Yes--no--Please, my lord--'

'Well?' cried the tiger, impatiently.

'Please, my lord!--how did you get in?'

'How!--why, in the usual way, of course!'

'Oh dear me!--my head is beginning to whirl again!  Please don't be
angry, my lord, but what is the usual way?'

At this the tiger lost patience, and, jumping into the cage, cried,
'This way!  Now do you understand how it was?'

'Perfectly!' grinned the jackal, as he dexterously shut the door; 'and
if you will permit me to say so, I think matters will remain as they
were!'




THE KING OF THE CROCODILES


[Illustration:  Farmer begging the crocodiles not to hurt him]

Once upon a time a farmer went out to look at his fields by the side
of the river, and found to his dismay that all his young green wheat
had been trodden down, and nearly destroyed, by a number of
crocodiles, which were lying lazily amid the crops like great logs of
wood.  He flew into a great rage, bidding them go back to the water,
but they only laughed at him.

Every day the same thing occurred,--every day the farmer found the
crocodiles lying in his young wheat, until one morning he completely
lost his temper, and, when they refused to budge, began throwing
stones at them.  At this they rushed on him fiercely, and he, quaking
with fear, fell on his knees, begging them not to hurt him.

'We will hurt neither you nor your young wheat,' said the biggest
crocodile, 'if you will give us your daughter in marriage; but if not,
we will eat you for throwing stones at us.'

The farmer, thinking of nothing but saving his own life, promised what
the crocodiles required of him; but when, on his return home, he told
his wife what he had done, she was very much vexed, for their daughter
was as beautiful as the moon, and her betrothal into a very rich
family had already taken place.  So his wife persuaded the farmer to
disregard the promise made to the crocodiles, and proceed with his
daughter's marriage as if nothing had happened; but when the
wedding-day drew near the bridegroom died, and there was an end to
that business.  The farmer's daughter, however, was so beautiful that
she was very soon asked in marriage again, but this time her suitor
fell sick of a lingering illness; in short, so many misfortunes
occurred to all concerned, that at last even the farmer's wife
acknowledged the crocodiles must have something to do with the bad
luck.  By her advice the farmer went down to the river bank to try to
induce the crocodiles to release him from his promise, but they would
hear of no excuse, threatening fearful punishments if the agreement
were not fulfilled at once.

So the farmer returned home to his wife very sorrowful; she, however,
was determined to resist to the uttermost, and refused to give up her
daughter.

The very next day the poor girl fell down and broke her leg.  Then the
mother said, 'These demons of crocodiles will certainly kill us
all!--better to marry our daughter to a strange house than see her
die.'

Accordingly, the farmer went down to the river and informed the
crocodiles they might send the bridal procession to fetch the bride as
soon as they chose.

The next day a number of female crocodiles came to the bride's house
with trays full of beautiful clothes, and _henna_ for staining
the bride's hands.  They behaved with the utmost politeness, and
carried out all the proper ceremonies with the greatest precision.
Nevertheless the beautiful bride wept, saying, 'Oh, mother! are you
marrying me into the river?  I shall be drowned!'

In due course the bridal procession arrived, and all the village was
wonderstruck at the magnificence of the arrangements.  Never was there
such a retinue of crocodiles, some playing instruments of music,
others bearing trays upon trays full of sweetmeats, garments, and
jewels, and all dressed in the richest of stuffs.  In the middle, a
perfect blaze of gold and gems, sat the King of the Crocodiles.

The sight of so much magnificence somewhat comforted the beautiful
bride, nevertheless she wept bitterly when she was put into the
gorgeous bride's palanquin and borne off to the river bank.  Arrived
at the edge of the stream, the crocodiles dragged the poor girl out,
and forced her into the water, despite her struggles, for, thinking
she was going to be drowned, she screamed with terror; but lo and
behold! no sooner had her feet touched the water than it divided
before her, and, rising up on either side, showed a path leading to
the bottom of the river, down which the bridal party disappeared,
leaving the bride's father, who had accompanied her so far, upon the
bank, very much astonished at the marvellous sight.

Some months passed by without further news of the crocodiles.  The
farmer's wife wept because she had lost her daughter, declaring that
the girl was really drowned, and her husband's fine story about the
stream dividing was a mere invention.

Now when the King of the Crocodiles was on the point of leaving with
his bride, he had given a piece of brick to her father, with these
words:  'If ever you want to see your daughter, go down to the river,
throw this brick as far as you can into the stream, and you will see
what you will see!'

Remembering this, the farmer said to his wife, 'Since you are so
distressed, I will go myself and see if my daughter be alive or dead.'

Then he went to the river bank, taking the brick, and threw it ever so
far into the stream.  Immediately the waters rolled back from before
his feet, leaving a dry path to the bottom of the river.  It looked so
inviting, spread with clean sand, and bordered by flowers, that the
farmer hastened along it without the least hesitation, until he came
to a magnificent palace, with a golden roof, and shining, glittering
diamond walls.  Lofty trees and gay gardens surrounded it, and a
sentry paced up and down before the gateway.

'Whose palace is this?' asked the farmer of the sentry, who replied
that it belonged to the King of the Crocodiles.

'My daughter has at least a splendid house to live in!' thought the
farmer; 'I only wish her husband were half as handsome!'

Then, turning to the sentry, he asked if his daughter were within.

'Your daughter!' returned the sentry, 'what should she do here?'

'She married the King of the Crocodiles, and I want to see her.'

At this the sentry burst out laughing.  'A likely story, indeed!' he
cried; 'what! _my_ master married to _your_ daughter!  Ha!
ha! ha!'

Now the farmer's daughter was sitting beside an open window in the
palace, waiting for her husband to return from hunting.  She was as
happy as the day was long, for you must know that in his own
river-kingdom the King of the Crocodiles was the handsomest young
Prince anybody ever set eyes upon; it was only when he went on shore
that he assumed the form of a crocodile.  So what with her magnificent
palace and splendid young Prince, the farmer's daughter had been too
happy even to think of her old home; but now, hearing a strange voice
speaking to the sentry, her memory awakened, and she recognised her
father's tones.  Looking out, she saw him there, standing in his poor
clothes, in the glittering court; she longed to run and fling her arms
round his neck, but dared not disobey her husband, who had forbidden
her to go out of, or to let any one into the palace without his
permission.  So all she could do was to lean out of the window, and
call to him, saying, 'Oh, dearest father!  I am here!  Only wait till
my husband, the King of the Crocodiles, returns, and I will ask him to
let you in.  I dare not without his leave.'

The father, though overjoyed to find his daughter alive, did not
wonder she was afraid of her terrible husband, so he waited patiently.

In a short time a troop of horsemen entered the court.  Every man was
dressed from head to foot in armour made of glittering silver plates,
but in the centre of all rode a Prince clad in gold--bright burnished
gold, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet,--the
handsomest, most gallant young Prince that ever was seen.

Then the poor farmer fell at the gold-clad horseman's feet, and cried,
'O King! cherish me! for I am a poor man whose daughter was carried
off by the dreadful King of the Crocodiles!'

Then the gold-clad horseman smiled, saying, '_I_ am the King of
the Crocodiles!  Your daughter is a good, obedient wife, and will be
very glad to see you.'

After this there were great rejoicings and merrymakings, but when a
few days had passed away in feasting, the farmer became restless, and
begged to be allowed to take his daughter home with him for a short
visit, in order to convince his wife the girl was well and happy.  But
the Crocodile King refused, saying, 'Not so! but if you like I will
give you a house and land here; then you can dwell with us.'

The farmer said he must first ask his wife, and returned home, taking
several bricks with him, to throw into the river and make the stream
divide.

His wife would not at first agree to live in the Crocodile Kingdom,
but she consented to go there on a visit, and afterwards became so
fond of the beautiful river country that she was constantly going to
see her daughter the Queen; till at length the old couple never
returned to shore, but lived altogether in Crocodile Kingdom with
their son-in-law, the King of the Crocodiles.




LITTLE ANKLEBONE


Once upon a time there was a little boy who lost his parents; so he
went to live with his Auntie, and she set him to herd sheep.  All day
long the little fellow wandered barefoot through the pathless plain,
tending his flock, and playing his tiny shepherd's pipe from morn till
eve.

But one day came a great big wolf, and looked hungrily at the small
shepherd and his fat sheep, saying, 'Little boy! shall I eat you, or
your sheep?'  Then the little boy answered politely, 'I don't know,
Mr. Wolf; I must ask my Auntie.'

So all day long he piped away on his tiny pipe, and in the evening,
when he brought the flock home, he went to his Auntie and said,
'Auntie dear, a great big wolf asked me to-day if he should eat me, or
your sheep.  Which shall it be?'

Then his Auntie looked at the wee little shepherd, and at the fat
flock, and said sharply, 'Which shall it be?--why, _you_, of
course!'

So next morning the little boy drove his flock out into the pathless
plain, and blew away cheerfully on his shepherd's pipe until the great
big wolf appeared.  Then he laid aside his pipe, and, going up to the
savage beast, said, 'Oh, if you please, Mr. Wolf, I asked my Auntie,
and she says you are to eat _me_.'

Now the wolf, savage as wolves always are, could not help having just
a spark of pity for the tiny barefoot shepherd who played his pipe so
sweetly, therefore he said kindly, 'Could I do anything for you,
little boy, after I've eaten you?'

'Thank you!' returned the tiny shepherd.  'If you would be so kind,
after you've picked the bones, as to thread my anklebone on a string
and hang it on the tree that weeps over the pond yonder, I shall be
much obliged.'

So the wolf ate the little shepherd, picked the bones, and afterwards
hung the anklebone by a string to the branches of the tree, where it
danced and swung in the sunlight.

Now, one day, three robbers, who had just robbed a palace, happening
to pass that way, sat down under the tree and began to divide the
spoil.  Just as they had arranged all the golden dishes and precious
jewels and costly stuffs into three heaps, a jackal howled.  Now you
must know that thieves always use the jackal's cry as a note of
warning, so that when at the very same moment Little Anklebone's
thread snapped, and he fell plump on the head of the chief robber, the
man imagined some one had thrown a pebble at him, and, shouting 'Run!
run!--we are discovered!' he bolted away as hard as he could, followed
by his companions, leaving all the treasure behind them.

'Now,' said Little Anklebone to himself, 'I shall lead a fine life!'

So he gathered the treasure together, and sat under the tree that
drooped over the pond, and played so sweetly on a new shepherd's pipe,
that all the beasts of the forest, and the birds of the air, and the
fishes of the pond came to listen to him.  Then Little Anklebone put
marble basins round the pond for the animals to drink out of, and in
the evening the does, and the tigresses, and the she-wolves gathered
round him to be milked, and when he had drunk his fill he milked the
rest into the pond, till at last it became a pond of milk.  And Little
Anklebone sat by the milken pond and piped away on his shepherd's
pipe.

Now, one day, an old woman, passing by with her jar for water, heard
the sweet strains of Little Anklebone's pipe, and following the sound,
came upon the pond of milk, and saw the animals, and the birds, and
the fishes, listening to the music.  She was wonderstruck, especially
when Little Anklebone, from his seat under the tree, called out, 'Fill
your jar, mother!  All drink who come hither!'

Then the old woman filled her jar with milk, and went on her way
rejoicing at her good fortune.  But as she journeyed she met with the
King of that country, who, having been a-hunting, had lost his way in
the pathless plain.

'Give me a drink of water, good mother,' he cried, seeing the jar; 'I
am half dead with thirst!'

'It is milk, my son,' replied the old woman; 'I got it yonder from a
milken pond.'  Then she told the King of the wonders she had seen, so
that he resolved to have a peep at them himself.  And when he saw the
milken pond, and all the animals and birds and fishes gathered round,
while Little Anklebone played ever so sweetly on his shepherd's pipe,
he said, 'I must have the tiny piper, if I die for it!'

[Illustration:  Old woman finding the pond of milk]

No sooner did Little Anklebone hear these words than he set off at a
run, and the King after him.  Never was there such a chase before or
since, for Little Anklebone hid himself amid the thickest briars and
thorns, and the King was so determined to have the tiny piper, that he
did not care for scratches.  At last the King was successful, but no
sooner did he take hold of Little Anklebone than the clouds above
began to thunder and lighten horribly, and from below came the lowing
of many does, and louder than all came the voice of the little piper
himself singing these words--

  'O clouds! why should you storm and flare?
    Poor Anklebone is forced to roam.
   O does! why wait the milker's care?
     Poor Anklebone must leave his home.'

And he sang so piercingly sweet that pity filled the King's heart,
especially when he saw it was nothing but a bone after all.  So he let
it go again, and the little piper went back to his seat under the tree
by the pond; and there he sits still, and plays his shepherd's pipe,
while all the beasts of the forest, and birds of the air, and fishes
of the pond, gather round and listen to his music.  And sometimes,
people wandering through the pathless plain hear the pipe, and then
they say, 'That is Little Anklebone, who was eaten by a wolf ages
ago!'*




THE CLOSE ALLIANCE

A TALE OF WOE


One day a farmer went with his bullocks to plough his field.  He had
just turned the first furrow, when a tiger walked up to him and said,
'Peace be with you, friend!  How are you this fine morning?'

'The same to you, my lord, and I am pretty well, thank you!' returned
the farmer, quaking with fear, but thinking it wisest to be polite.

'I am glad to hear it,' replied the tiger cheerfully, 'because
Providence has sent me to eat your two bullocks.  You are a
God-fearing man, I know, so make haste and unyoke them.'

'My friend, are you sure you are not making a mistake?' asked the
farmer, whose courage had returned now that he knew it was merely a
question of gobbling up bullocks; 'because Providence sent me to
plough this field, and, in order to plough, one must have oxen.  Had
you not better go and make further inquiries?'

'There is no occasion for delay, and I should be sorry to keep you
waiting,' returned the tiger.  'If you'll unyoke the bullocks I'll be
ready in a moment.'  With that the savage creature fell to sharpening
his teeth and claws in a very significant manner.

But the farmer begged and prayed that his oxen might not be eaten, and
promised that if the tiger would spare them, he would give in exchange
a fine fat young milch cow, which his wife had tied up in the yard at
home.

[Illustration:  Farmer pleading with the tiger]

To this the tiger agreed, and, taking the oxen with him, the farmer
went sadly homewards.  Seeing him return so early from the fields, his
wife, who was a stirring, busy woman, called out, 'What! lazybones!--back
already, and _my_ work just beginning!'

Then the farmer explained how he had met the tiger, and how to save
the bullocks he had promised the milch cow in exchange.  At this the
wife began to cry, saying, 'A likely story, indeed!--saving your
stupid old bullocks at the expense of my beautiful cow!  Where will
the children get milk? and how can I cook my pottage and collops
without butter?'

'All very fine, wife,' retorted the farmer, 'but how can we make bread
without corn? and how can you have corn without bullocks to plough the
fields?  Pottage and collops are very nice, but it is better to do
without milk and butter than without bread, so make haste and untie
the cow.'

'You great gaby!' wept the wife, 'if you had an ounce of sense in your
brain you'd think of some plan to get out of the scrape!'

'Think yourself!' cried the husband, in a rage.

'Very well!' returned the wife; 'but if I do the thinking you must
obey orders; I can't do both.  Go back to the tiger, and tell him the
cow wouldn't come along with you, but that your wife is bringing it'

The farmer, who was a great coward, didn't half like the idea of going
back empty-handed to the tiger, but as he could think of no other plan
he did as he was bid, and found the beast still sharpening his teeth
and claws for very hunger; and when he heard he had to wait still
longer for his dinner, he began to prowl about, and lash his tail, and
curl his whiskers, in a most terrible manner, causing the poor
farmer's knees to knock together with terror.

Now, when the farmer had left the house, his wife went to the stable
and saddled the pony; then she put on her husband's best clothes, tied
the turban very high, so as to make her look as tall as possible,
bestrode the pony, and set off to the field where the tiger was.

She rode along, swaggering and blustering, till she came to where the
lane turned into the field, and then she called out, as bold as brass,
'Now, please the powers!  I may find a tiger in this place; for I
haven't tasted tiger's meat since yesterday, when, as luck would have
it, I ate three for breakfast.'

[Illustration:  Farmer's wife on a horse]

Hearing these words, and seeing the speaker ride boldly at him, the
tiger became so alarmed that he turned tail, and bolted into the
forest, going away at such a headlong pace that he nearly overturned
his own jackal; for tigers always have a jackal of their own, who, as
it were, waits at table and clears away the bones.

'My lord! my lord!' cried the jackal, 'whither away so fast?'

'Run! run!' panted the tiger; 'there's the very devil of a horseman in
yonder fields, who thinks nothing of eating three tigers for
breakfast!'

At this the jackal sniggered in his sleeve.  'My dear lord,' said he,
'the sun has dazzled your eyes!  That was no horseman, but only the
farmer's wife dressed up as a man!'

'Are you quite sure?' asked the tiger, pausing.

'Quite sure, my lord,' repeated the jackal; 'and if your lordship's
eyes had not been dazzled by--ahem!--the sun, your lordship would
have seen her pigtail hanging down behind.'

'But you may be mistaken!' persisted the cowardly tiger; 'it was the
very devil of a horseman to look at!'

'Who's afraid?' replied the brave jackal.  'Come! don't give up your
dinner because of a woman!'

'But you may be bribed to betray me!' argued the tiger, who, like all
cowards, was suspicious.

'Let us go together, then!' returned the gallant jackal.

'Nay! but you may take me there and then run away!' insisted the tiger
cunningly.

'In that case, let us tie our tails together, and then I can't!'  The
jackal, you see, was determined not to be done out of his bones.

To this the tiger agreed, and having tied their tails together in a
reef-knot, the pair set off arm-in-arm.

Now the farmer and his wife had remained in the field, laughing over
the trick she had played on the tiger, when, lo and behold! what
should they see but the gallant pair coming back ever so bravely, with
their tails tied together.

'Run!' cried the farmer; 'we are lost! we are lost!'

'Nothing of the kind, you great gaby!' answered his wife coolly, 'if
you will only stop that noise and be quiet.  I can't hear myself
speak!'

Then she waited till the pair were within hail, when she called out
politely, 'How very kind of you, dear Mr. Jackal, to bring me such a
nice fat tiger!  I shan't be a moment finishing my share of him, and
then you can have the bones.'

At these words the tiger became wild with fright, and, quite
forgetting the jackal, and that reef-knot in their tails, he bolted
away full tilt, dragging the jackal behind him.  Bumpety, bump, bump,
over the stones!--crash, scratch, patch, through the briars!

In vain the poor jackal howled and shrieked to the tiger to stop,--the
noise behind him only frightened the coward more; and away he went,
helter-skelter, hurry-scurry, over hill and dale, till he was
_nearly_ dead with fatigue, and the jackal was _quite_ dead
from bumps and bruises.

_Moral_--Don't tie your tail to a coward's.




THE TWO BROTHERS


Once upon a time there lived a King who had two young sons; they were
good boys, and sat in school learning all that kings' sons ought to
know.  But while they were still learning, the Queen their mother
died, and their father the King shortly after married again.  Of
course the new wife was jealous of the two young Princes, and, as
stepmothers usually do, she soon began to ill-use the poor boys.
First she gave them barley-meal instead of wheaten cakes to eat, and
then even these were made without salt.  After a time, the meal of
which the cakes were made was sour and full of weevils; so matters
went on from bad to worse, until at last she took to beating the poor
young Princes, and when they cried, she complained to the King of
their disobedience and peevishness, so that he too was angry, and beat
them again.

At length the lads agreed it was high time to seek some remedy.

'Let us go into the world,' said the younger, 'and earn our own
living.'

'Yes,' cried the elder, 'let us go at once, and never again eat bread
under this roof.'

'Not so, brother,' replied the younger, who was wise beyond his years,
'don't you remember the saying--

  ''With empty stomachs don't venture away,
    Be it December, or be it May'?'

So they ate their bread, bad as it was, and afterwards, both mounting
on one pony, they set out to seek their fortune.

Having journeyed for some time through a barren country, they
dismounted under a large tree, and sat down to rest.  By chance a
starling and a parrot, flying past, settled on the branches of the
tree, and began to dispute as to who should have the best place.

'I never heard of such impertinence!' cried the starling, pushing and
striving to get to the topmost branch; 'why, I am so important a bird,
that if any man eats me he will without doubt become Prime Minister!'

'Make room for your betters!' returned the parrot, hustling the
starling away; 'why, if any man eats _me_ he will without doubt
become a King!'

Hearing these words, the brothers instantly drew out their crossbows,
and aiming at the same time, both the birds fell dead at the selfsame
moment.  Now these two brothers were so fond of each other that
neither would allow he had shot the parrot, for each wanted the other
to be the King, and even when the birds had been cooked and were ready
to eat, the two lads were still disputing over the matter.  But at
last the younger said, 'Dearest brother, we are only wasting time.
You are the elder, and must take your right, since it was your fate to
be born first.'

So the elder Prince ate the parrot, and the younger Prince ate the
starling; then they mounted their pony and rode away.  They had gone
but a little way, however, when the elder brother missed his whip, and
thinking he had perhaps left it under the tree, proposed to go back
and find it.

'Not so,' said the younger Prince, 'you are King, I am only Minister;
therefore it is my place to go and fetch the whip.'

'Be it as you wish,' replied the elder, 'only take the pony, which
will enable you to return quicker.  In the meantime I will go on foot
to yonder town.'

The younger Prince accordingly rode back to the tree, but the
Snake-demon, to whom it belonged, had returned during the interval,
and no sooner did the poor Prince set foot within its shade than the
horrid serpent flew at him and killed him.

Meanwhile, the elder Prince, loitering along the road, arrived at last
at the town, which he found in a state of great commotion.  The King
had recently died, and though all the inhabitants had marched past the
sacred elephant in file, the animal had not chosen to elect any one of
them to the vacant throne by kneeling down and saluting the favoured
individual as he passed by, for in this manner Kings were elected in
that country.  Therefore the people were in great consternation, and
orders had been issued that every stranger entering the gates of the
city was forthwith to be led before the sacred elephant.  No sooner,
therefore, had the elder Prince set foot in the town than he was
dragged unceremoniously--for there had been many disappointments--before
the over-particular animal.  This time, however, it had found
what it wanted, for the very instant it caught sight of the Prince it
went down on its knees and began in a great hurry to salute him with
its trunk.  So the Prince was immediately elected to the throne, amid
general rejoicings.

[Illustration:  The sacred elephant bowing before the prince]

All this time the younger Prince lay dead under the tree, so that the
King his brother, after waiting and searching for him in vain, gave
him up for lost, and appointed another Prime Minister.

But it so happened that a magician and his wife, who, being wise folk,
were not afraid of the serpents which dwelt in the tree, came to draw
water at the spring which flowed from the roots; and when the
magician's wife saw the dead Prince lying there, so handsome and
young, she thought she had never seen anything so beautiful before,
and, taking pity on him, said to her husband, 'You are for ever
talking of your wisdom and power:  prove it by bringing this dead lad
to life!'

At first the magician refused, but when his wife began to jeer at him,
saying his vaunted power was all pretence, he replied angrily, 'Very
well; you shall see that although I myself have no power to bring the
dead back to life, I can force others to do the deed.'

Whereupon he bade his wife fill her brass drinking bowl at the spring,
when, lo and behold! every drop of the water flowed into the little
vessel, and the fountain was dry!

'Now,' said the magician, 'come away home, and you shall see what you
will see.'

When the serpents found their spring had dried up, they were terribly
put out, for serpents are thirsty creatures, and love water.  They
bore the drought for three days, but after that they went in a body to
the magician, and told him they would do whatever he desired if he
would only restore the water of their spring.  This he promised to do,
if they in their turn restored the dead Prince to life; and when they
gladly performed this task, the magician emptied the brass bowl, all
the water flowed back into the spring, and the serpents drank and were
happy.

The young Prince, on coming back to life, fancied he had awakened from
sleep, and fearing lest his brother should be vexed at his delay,
seized the whip, mounted the pony--which all this time had been
quietly grazing beside its master--and rode off.  But in his hurry and
confusion he took the wrong road, and so arrived at last at a
different city from the one wherein his brother was king.

It was growing late in the evening, and having no money in his pocket,
the young Prince was at a loss how to procure anything to eat; but
seeing a good-natured-looking old woman herding goats, he said to her,
'Mother, if you will give me something to eat you may herd this pony
of mine also, for it will be yours.'

To this the old woman agreed, and the Prince went to live in her
house, finding her very kind and good-natured.  But in the course of a
day or two he noticed that his hostess looked very sad, so he asked
her what was the matter.

'The matter is this, my son,' replied the old woman, tearfully; 'in
this kingdom there lives an ogre, which every day devours a young man,
a goat, and a wheaten cake--in consideration of receiving which meal
punctually, he leaves the other inhabitants in peace.  Therefore every
day this meal has to be provided, and it falls to the lot of every
inhabitant in turn to prepare it, under pain of death.  It is my turn
to-day.  The cake I can make, the goat I have, but where is the young
man?'

'Why does not some one kill the ogre?' asked the brave young Prince.

'Many have tried, but all have failed, though the King has gone so far
as to promise his daughter in marriage, and half his kingdom, to a
successful champion.  And now it is my turn, and I must die, for where
shall I find a young man?' said the poor old woman, weeping bitterly.

'Don't cry, Goody,' returned the good-natured Prince; 'you have been
very kind to me, and I will do my best for you by making part of the
ogre's dinner.'

And though the old woman at first refused flatly to allow so handsome
a young man to sacrifice himself, he laughed at her fears, and cheered
her up so that she gave in.

'Only one thing I ask of you, Goody,' quoth the Prince; 'make the
wheaten cake as big as you can, and give me the finest and fattest
goat in your flock.'

This she promised to do, and when everything was prepared, the Prince,
leading the goat and carrying the cake, went to the tree where the
ogre came every evening to receive and devour his accustomed meal.
Having tied the goat to the tree, and laid the cake on the ground, the
Prince stepped outside the trench that was dug round the ogre's
dining-room, and waited.  Presently the ogre, a very frightful monster
indeed, appeared.  Now he generally ate the young man first, for as a
rule the cakes and goats brought to him were not appetising; but this
evening, seeing the biggest cake and the fattest goat he ever set eyes
upon, he just went straight at them and began to gobble them up.  As
he was finishing the last mouthful, and was looking about for his
man's flesh, the Prince sprang at him, sword in hand.  Then ensued a
terrible contest.  The ogre fought like an ogre, but in consequence of
having eaten the cake and the goat, one the biggest and the other the
fattest that ever was seen, he was not nearly so active as usual, and
after a tremendous battle the brave Prince was victorious, and laid
his enemy at his feet.  Rejoicing at his success, the young man cut
off the ogre's head, tied it up in a handkerchief as a trophy, and
then, being quite wearied out by the combat, lay down to rest and fell
fast asleep.

Now, every morning, a scavenger came to the ogre's dining-room to
clear away the remains of the last night's feast, for the ogre was
mighty fastidious, and could not bear the smell of old bones; and this
particular morning, when the scavenger saw only half the quantity of
bones, he was much astonished, and beginning to search for more, found
the young Prince hard by, fast asleep, with the ogre's head by his
side.

'Ho! ho!' thought the scavenger, 'this is a fine chance for me!'

So, lifting the Prince, who, being dead tired, did not awake, he put
him gently into a clay-pit close by, and covered him up with clay.
Then he took the ogre's head, and going to the King, claimed half the
kingdom and the Princess in marriage, as his reward for slaying the
ogre.

Although the King had his suspicions that all was not fair, he was
obliged to fulfil his promise as far as giving up part of his kingdom
was concerned, but for the present he managed to evade the dreadful
necessity of giving his daughter in marriage to a scavenger, by the
excuse that the Princess was desirous of a year's delay.  So the
Scavenger-king reigned over half the kingdom, and made great
preparations for his future marriage.

Meanwhile, some potters coming to get clay from their pit were
mightily astonished to find a handsome young man, insensible, but
still breathing, hidden away under the clay.  Taking him home, they
handed him over to the care of their women, who soon brought him
round.  On coming to himself, he learnt with surprise of the
scavenger's victory over the ogre, with which all the town was
ringing.  He understood how the wicked wretch had stepped in and
defrauded him, and having no witness but his own word, saw it would be
useless to dispute the point; therefore he gladly accepted the
potters' offer of teaching him their trade.

Thus the Prince sat at the potters' wheel, and proved so clever, that
ere long they became famous for the beautiful patterns and excellent
workmanship of their wares; so much so, that the story of the handsome
young potter who had been found in a clay-pit soon became noised
abroad; and although the Prince had wisely never breathed a word of
his adventures to any one, yet, when the news of his existence reached
the Scavenger-king's ears, he determined in some way or another to get
rid of the young man, lest the truth should leak out.

Now, just at this time, the fleet of merchant vessels which annually
came to the city with merchandise and spices was detained in harbour
by calms and contrary winds.  So long were they detained that the
merchants feared lest they should be unable to return within the year;
and as this was a serious matter, the auguries were consulted.  They
declared that until a human sacrifice was made the vessels would never
leave port.  When this was reported to the Scavenger-king he seized
his opportunity, and said, 'Be it so; but do not sacrifice a citizen.
Give the merchants that good-for-nothing potter-lad, who comes no one
knows whence.'

[Illustration:  The prince at the potter's wheel]

The courtiers of course lauded the kindness of the Scavenger-king to
the skies, and the Prince was handed over to the merchants, who,
taking him on board their ships, prepared to kill him.  However, he
begged and prayed them so hard to wait till evening, on the chance of
a breeze coming up, that they consented to wait till sunset.  Then,
when none came, the Prince took a knife and made a tiny cut on his
little finger.  As the first drop of blood flowed forth, the sails of
the first ship filled with wind, and she glided swiftly out of
harbour; at the second drop, the second ship did likewise, and so on
till the whole fleet were sailing before a strong breeze.

The merchants were enchanted at having such a valuable possession as
the Prince, who could thus compel the winds, and took the very
greatest care of him; before long he was a great favourite with them
all, for he was really an amiable young man.  At length they arrived
at another city, which happened to be the very one where the Prince's
brother had been elected King by the elephant, and while the merchants
went into the town to transact business, they left the Prince to watch
over the vessels.  Now, growing weary of watching, the Prince, to
amuse himself, began, with the clay on the shore beside him, to make a
model from memory of his father's palace.  Growing interested in his
work, he worked away till he had made the most beautiful thing
imaginable.  There was the garden full of flowers, the King on his
throne, the courtiers sitting round,--even the Princes learning in
school, and the pigeons fluttering about the tower.  When it was quite
finished, the poor young Prince could not help the tears coming into
his eyes, as he looked at it, and he sighed to think of past days.

Just at that very moment the Prime Minister's daughter, surrounded by
her women, happened to pass that way.  She looked at the beautiful
model, and was wonderstruck, but when she saw the handsome, sad young
man who sat sighing beside it, she went straight home, locked the
doors, and refused to eat anything at all.  Her father, fearing she
was ill, sent to inquire what was wrong, whereupon she sent him this
reply:  'Tell my father I will neither eat nor drink until he marries
me to the young man who sits sighing on the sea-shore beside a king's
palace made of clay.'

At first the Prime Minister was very angry, but seeing his daughter
was determined to starve herself to death if she did not gain her
point, he outwardly gave his consent; privately, however, arranging
with the merchants that immediately after the marriage the bride and
bridegroom were to go on board the ships, which were at once to set
sail, and that on the first opportunity the Prince was to be thrown
overboard, and the Princess brought back to her father.

So the marriage took place, the ships sailed away, and a day or two
afterwards the merchants pushed the young man overboard as he was
sitting on the prow.  But it so happened that a rope was hanging from
the bride's window in the stern, and as the Prince drifted by, he
caught it and climbed up into her cabin unseen.  She hid him in her
box, where he lay concealed, and when they brought her food, she
refused to eat, pretending grief, and saying, 'Leave it here; perhaps
I may be hungry by and by.'  Then she shared the meal with her
husband.

The merchants, thinking they had managed everything beautifully,
turned their ships round, and brought the bride and her box back to
her father, who, being much pleased, rewarded them handsomely.

His daughter also was quite content, and having reached her own
apartments, let her husband out of the box and dressed him as a
woman-servant, so that he could go about the palace quite securely.

Now the Prince had of course told his wife the whole story of his
life, and when she in return had related how the King of that country
had been elected by the elephant, her husband began to feel sure he
had found his long-lost brother at last.  Then he laid a plan to make
sure.  Every day a bouquet of flowers was sent to the King from the
Minister's garden, so one evening the Prince, in his disguise, went up
to the gardener's daughter, who was cutting flowers, and said, 'I will
teach you a new fashion of arranging them, if you like.'  Then, taking
the flowers, he tied them together just as his father's gardener used
to do.

The next morning, when the King saw the bouquet, he became quite pale,
and turning to the gardener, asked him who had arranged the flowers.

'I did, sire,' replied the gardener, trembling with fear.

'You lie, knave!' cried the King; 'but go, bring me just such another
bouquet to-morrow, or your head shall be the forfeit!'

That day the gardener's daughter came weeping to the disguised Prince,
and, telling him all, besought him to make her another bouquet to save
her father's life.  The Prince willingly consented, for he was now
certain the King was his long-lost brother; and, making a still more
beautiful bouquet, concealed a paper, on which his name was written,
amidst the flowers.

When the King discovered the paper he turned quite pale, and said to
the gardener, 'I am now convinced you never made this nosegay; but
tell me the truth, and I will forgive you.'

Whereupon the gardener fell on his knees and confessed that one of the
women-servants in the Prime Minister's palace had made it for his
daughter.  This surprised the King immensely, and he determined to
disguise himself and go with the gardener's daughter to cut flowers in
the Minister's garden, which he accordingly did; but no sooner did the
disguised young Prince behold his brother than he recognised him, and
wishing to see if power and wealth had made his brother forget their
youthful affection, he parried all questions as to where he had learnt
to arrange flowers, and replied by telling the story of his
adventures, as far as the eating of the starling and the parrot.  Then
he declared he was too tired to proceed further that day, but would
continue his story on the next.  The King, though greatly excited, was
accordingly obliged to wait till the next evening, when the Prince
told of his fight with the demon and delivery by the potters.  Then
once more he declared he was tired, and the King, who was on pins and
needles to hear more, had to wait yet another day; and so on until the
seventh day, when the Prince concluded his tale by relating his
marriage with the Prime Minister's daughter, and disguise as a woman.

Then the King fell on his brother's neck and rejoiced greatly; the
Minister also, when he heard what an excellent marriage his daughter
had made, was so pleased that he voluntarily resigned his office in
favour of his son-in-law.  So what the parrot and the starling had
said came true, for the one brother was King, and the other Prime
Minister.

The very first thing the King did was to send ambassadors to the court
of the king who owned the country where the ogre had been killed,
telling him the truth of the story, and saying that his brother, being
quite satisfied as Prime Minister, did not intend to claim half the
kingdom.  At this, the king of that country was so delighted that he
begged the Minister Prince to accept of his daughter as a bride, to
which the Prince replied that he was already married, but that his
brother the King would gladly make her his wife.

So there were immense rejoicings, but the Scavenger-king was put to
death, as he very well deserved.




THE JACKAL AND THE IGUANA


One moonlight night, a miserable, half-starved jackal, skulking
through the village, found a worn-out pair of shoes in the gutter.
They were too tough for him to eat, so, determined to make some use of
them, he strung them to his ears like earrings, and, going down to the
edge of the pond, gathered all the old bones he could find together,
and built a platform with them, plastering it over with mud.

On this he sat in a dignified attitude, and when any animal came to
the pond to drink, he cried out in a loud voice, 'Hi! stop!  You must
not taste a drop till you have done homage to me.  So repeat these
verses, which I have composed in honour of the occasion:--

  'Silver is his daïs, plastered o'er with gold;
  In his ears are jewels,--some prince I must behold!'

Now, as most of the animals were very thirsty, and in a great hurry to
drink, they did not care to dispute the matter, but gabbled off the
words without a second thought.  Even the royal tiger, treating it as
a jest, repeated the jackal's rhyme, in consequence of which the
latter became quite cock-a-hoop, and really began to believe he was a
personage of great importance.

[Illustration:  The jackal on the mud-plastered bone platform]

By and by an iguana, or big lizard, came waddling and wheezing down to
the water, looking for all the world like a baby alligator.

'Hi! you there!' sang out the jackal; 'you mustn't drink until you
have said--

'Silver is his daïs, plastered o'er with gold; In his ears are
jewels,--some prince I must behold

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/6145