INDIAN FAIRY TALES

SELECTED AND EDITED

BY
JOSEPH JACOBS
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN D. BATTEN

1912
 Indian Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs.

This edition was created and published by Global Grey

©GlobalGrey 2019

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CONTENTS
Preface
The Lion And The Crane
How The Raja's Son Won The Princess Labam
The Lambikin
Punchkin
The Broken Pot
The Magic Fiddle
The Cruel Crane Outwitted
Loving Laili
The Tiger, The Brahman, And The Jackal
The Soothsayer's Son
Harisarman
The Charmed Ring
The Talkative Tortoise
A Lac Of Rupees For A Bit Of Advice
The Gold-Giving Serpent
The Son Of Seven Queens
A Lesson For Kings
Pride Goeth Before A Fall
Raja Rasalu
The Ass In The Lion's Skin
The Farmer And The Money-Lender
The Boy Who Had A Moon On His Forehead And A Star On His Chin
The Prince And The Fakir
Why The Fish Laughed
The Demon With The Matted Hair
The Ivory City And Its Fairy Princess
How Sun, Moon, And Wind Went Out To Dinner
How The Wicked Sons Were Duped
The Pigeon And The Crow
General Notes
Story Notes
 1

PREFACE

FROM the extreme West of the Indo-European world, we go this year to the
extreme East. From the soft rain and green turf of Gaeldom, we seek the
garish sun and arid soil of the Hindoo. In the Land of Ire, the belief in fairies,
gnomes, ogres and monsters is all but dead; in the Land of Ind it still
flourishes in all the vigour of animism.

Soils and national characters differ; but fairy tales are the same in plot and
incidents, if not in treatment. The majority of the tales in this volume have
been known in the West in some form or other, and the problem arises how
to account for their simultaneous existence in farthest West and East. Some-
-as Benfey in Germany, M. Cosquin in France, and Mr. Clouston in England--
have declared that India is the Home of the Fairy Tale, and that all European
fairy tales have been brought from thence by Crusaders, by Mongol
missionaries, by Gipsies, by Jews, by traders, by travellers. The question is
still before the courts, and one can only deal with it as an advocate. So far as
my instructions go, I should be prepared, within certain limits, to hold a brief
for India. So far as the children of Europe have their fairy stories in common,
these--and they form more than a third of the whole--are derived from India.
In particular, the majority of the Drolls or comic tales and jingles can be
traced, without much difficulty, back to the Indian peninsula.

Certainly there is abundant evidence of the early transmission by literary

means of a considerable number of drolls and folk-tales from India about
the time of the Crusaders. The collections known in Europe by the titles
of The Fables of Bidpai, The Seven Wise Masters, Gesta Romanorum, and
Barlaam and Josaphat, were extremely popular during the Middle Ages, and
their contents passed on the one hand into the Exempla of the monkish
preachers, and on the other into the Novelle of Italy, thence, after many
days, to contribute their quota to the Elizabethan Drama. Perhaps nearly
one tenth of the main incidents of European folk-tales can be traced to this
source.
 2

There are even indications of an earlier literary contact between Europe and
India, in the case of one branch of the folk-tale, the Fable or Beast Droll. In a
somewhat elaborate discussion ["History of the Aesopic Fable," the
introductory volume to my edition of Caxton's Fables of Esope (London,
Nutt, 1889)] I have come to the conclusion that a goodly number of the
fables that pass under the name of the Samian slave, Aesop, were derived
from India, probably from the same source whence the same tales were
utilised in the Jatakas, or Birth-stories of Buddha. These Jatakas contain a
large quantity of genuine early Indian folk-tales, and form the earliest
collection of folk-tales in the world, a sort of Indian Grimm, collected more
than two thousand years before the good German brothers went on their
quest among the folk with such delightful results. For this reason I have
included a considerable number of them in this volume; and shall be
surprised if tales that have roused the laughter and wonder of pious
Buddhists for the last two thousand years, cannot produce the same effect
on English children. The Jatakas have been fortunate in their English
translators, who render with vigour and point; and I rejoice in being able to
publish the translation of two new Jatakas, kindly done into English for this
volume by Mr. W. H. D. Rouse, of Christ's College, Cambridge. In one of
these I think I have traced the source of the Tar Baby incident in "Uncle
Remus."

Though Indian fairy tales are the earliest in existence, yet they are also from
another point of view the youngest. For it is only about twenty-five years
ago that Miss Frere began the modern collection of Indian folk-tales with
her charming, "Old Deccan Days" (London, John Murray, 1868; fourth
edition, 1889). Her example has been followed by Miss Stokes, by Mrs. Steel,
and Captain (now Major) Temple, by the Pandit Natesa Sastri, by Mr.
Knowles and Mr. Campbell, as well as others who have published folk-tales
in such periodicals as the Indian Antiquary and The Orientalist. The story-
store of modern India has been well dipped into during the last quarter of a
century, though the immense range of the country leaves room for any
number of additional workers and collections. Even so far as the materials
already collected go, a large number of the commonest incidents in
European folk-tales have been found in India. Whether brought there or
born there, we have scarcely any criterion for judging; but as some of those
 3

still current among the folk in India can be traced back more than a
millennium, the presumption is in favour of an Indian origin.

From all these sources--from the Jatakas, from the Bidpai, and from the
more recent collections--I have selected those stories which throw most
light on the origin of Fable and Folk-tales, and at the same time are most
likely to attract English children. I have not, however, included too many
stories of the Grimm types, lest I should repeat the contents of the two
preceding volumes of this series. This has to some degree weakened the
case for India as represented by this book. The need of catering for the
young ones has restricted my selection from the well-named "Ocean of the
Streams of Story," Katha-Sarit Sagara of Somadeva. The stories existing in
Pali and Sanskrit I have taken from translations, mostly from the German of
Benfey or the vigorous English of Professor Rhys-Davids, whom I have to
thank for permission to use his versions of the Jatakas.

I have been enabled to make this book a representative collection of the

Fairy Tales of Ind by the kindness of the original collectors or their
publishers. I have especially to thank Miss Frere, who kindly made an
exception in my favour, and granted me the use of that fine story,
"Punchkin," and that quaint myth, "How Sun, Moon, and Wind went out to
Dinner." Miss Stokes has been equally gracious in granting me the use of
characteristic specimens from her "Indian Fairy Tales." To Major Temple I
owe the advantage of selecting from his admirable Wideawake Stories, and
Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench & Co. have allowed me to use Mr. Knowles'
"Folk-tales of Kashmir," in their Oriental Library; and Messrs. W. H. Allen
have been equally obliging with regard to Mrs. Kingscote's "Tales ot the
Sun." Mr. M. L. Dames has enabled me to add to the published story-store of
India by granting me the use of one from his inedited collection of Baluchi
folk-tales.

I have again to congratulate myself on the co-operation of my friend Mr. J.

D. Batten in giving beautiful or amusing form to the creations of the folk
fancy of the Hindoos. It is no slight thing to embody, as be has done, the
glamour and the humour both of the Celt and of the Hindoo. It is only a
further proof that Fairy tales are something more than Celtic or Hindoo.
They are human.
 4

JOSEPH JACOBS.
 5

THE LION AND THE CRANE

THE Bodhisatta was at one time born in the region of Himavanta as a white
crane; now Brahmadatta was at that time reigning in Benares. Now it
chanced that as a lion was eating meat a bone stuck in his throat. The throat
became swollen, he could not take food, his suffering was terrible. The
crane seeing him, as he was perched on a tree looking for food, asked,
"What ails thee, friend?" He told him why. "I could free thee from that bone,
friend, but dare not enter thy mouth for fear thou mightest eat me." "Don't
be afraid, friend, I'll not eat thee; only save my life." "Very well," says he, and
caused him to lie down on his left side. But thinking to himself, "Who knows
what this fellow will do?" he placed a small stick upright between his two
jaws that he could not close his mouth, and inserting his head inside his
mouth struck one end of the bone with his beak. Whereupon the bone
dropped and fell out. As soon as he had caused the bone to fall, he got out
of the lion's mouth, striking the stick with his beak so that it fell out, and
then settled on a branch. The lion gets well, and one day was eating a
buffalo he had killed. The crane, thinking 'I will sound him," settled on a
branch just over him, and in conversation spoke this first verse:

"A service have we done thee

To the best of our ability,
King of the Beasts! Your Majesty!
What return shall we get from thee?"

In reply the Lion spoke the second verse:

"As I feed on blood,

And always hunt for prey,
'Tis much that thou art still alive
Having once been between my teeth."

Then in reply the crane said the two other verses:

"Ungrateful, doing no good,

Not doing as he would be done by,
 6

In him there is no gratitude,

To serve him is useless.

"His friendship is not won

By the clearest good deed.
Better softly withdraw from him,
Neither envying nor abushing."

And having thus spoken the crane flew away.

 7

And when the great Teacher, Gautama the Buddha, told this tale, he used to
add: "Now at that time the lion was Devadatta the Traitor, but the white crane
was I myself."
 8

HOW THE RAJA'S SON WON THE PRINCESS LABAM

IN A country there was a Raja who had an only son who every day went out
to hunt. One day the Rani, his mother, said to him, "You can hunt wherever
you like on these three sides; but you must never go to the fourth side." This
she said because she knew if he went on the fourth side he would hear of
the beautiful Princess Labam, and that then he would leave his father and
mother and seek for the princess.

The young prince listened to his mother, and obeyed her for some time; but
one day, when he was hunting on the three sides where he was allowed to
go, he remembered what she had said to him about the fourth side, and he
determined to go and see why she had forbidden him to hunt on that side.
When be got there, he found himself in a jungle, and nothing in the jungle
but a quantity of parrots, who, lived in it. The young Raja shot at some of
them, and at once they all flew away up to the sky. All, that is, but one, and
this was their Raja, who was called Hiraman parrot.

When Hiraman parrot found himself left alone, he called out to the other
parrots, "Don't fly away and leave me alone when the Raja's son shoots. If
you desert me like this, I will tell the Princess Labam."

Then the parrots all flew back to their Raja, chattering. The prince was
greatly surprised, and said, "Why, these birds can talk!" Then he said to the
parrots, "Who is the Princess Labam? Where does she live?" But the parrots
would not tell him where she lived. "You can never get to the Princess
Labam's country." That is all they would say.

The prince grew very sad when they would not tell him anything more; and
he threw his gun away and went home. When he got home, he would not
speak or eat, but lay on his bed for four or five days, and seemed very ill.

At last he told his father and mother that he wanted to go and see the
Princess Labam. "I must go," be said; "I must see what she is like. Tell me
where her country is."
 9

"We do not know where it is," answered his father and mother.

"Then I must go and look for it," said the prince.

"No, no," they said, "you must not leave us. You are our only son. Stay with
us. You will never find the Princess Labam."

" I must try and find her," said the prince. "Perhaps God will show me the
way. If I live and I find her, I will come back to you; but perhaps I shall die,
and then I shall never see you again. Still I must go."

So they had to let him go, though they cried very much at parting with him.
His father gave him fine clothes to wear, and a fine horse. And he took his
gun, and his bow and arrows, and a great many other weapons; "for," he
said, "I may want them." His father too, gave him plenty of rupees.

Then he himself got his horse all ready for the journey, and he said goodbye
to his father and mother; and his mother took her handkerchief and
wrapped some sweetmeats in it, and gave it to her son. "My child," she said
to him, "when you are hungry eat some of these sweetmeats."

He then set out on his journey, and rode on and on till he came to a jungle in
which were a tank and shady trees. He bathed himself and his horse in the
tank, and then sat down under a tree. "Now," he said to himself, "I will eat
some of the sweetmeats my mother gave me, and I will drink some 'water,
and then I will continue my journey." He opened his handkerchief and took
out a sweetmeat. He found an ant in it. He took out another. There was an
ant in that one too. So he laid the two sweetmeats on the ground, and he
took out another, and another, and another, until he had taken them all out;
but in, each he found an ant. "Never mind," he said, "I won't eat the
sweetmeats; the ants shall eat them." Then the Ant-Raja came and stood
before him and said, "You have been good to us. If ever you are in trouble,
think of me and we will come to you."

The Raja's son thanked him, mounted his horse and continued his journey.
He rode on and on until he came to another jungle, and there he saw a tiger
who had a thorn in his foot, and was roaring loudly from the pain.
 10

"Why do you roar like that?' said the young Raja. "What is the matter with
you?"

"I have had a thorn in my foot for twelve years," answered the tiger, "and it
hurts me so; that is why I roar."

"Well," said the Raja's son, "I will take it out for you. But perhaps, as you are
a tiger, when I have made you well, you will eat me?"

"Oh no," said the tiger, "I won't eat you. Do make me well."

Then the prince took a little knife from his pocket and cut the thorn out of
the tiger's foot; but when he cut, the tiger roared louder than ever--so loud
that his wife heard him in the next jungle, and came bounding along to see
what was the matter. The tiger saw her coming, and hid the prince in the
jungle, so that she should not see him.

"What man hurt you that you roared so loud?" said the wife.

"No one hurt me," answered the husband; "but a Raja's son came and took
the thorn out of my foot."

"Where is he? Show him to me," said his wife.

"If you promise not to kill him, I will call him," said the tiger.
 11

"I won't kill him; only let me see him," answered his wife.

Then the tiger called the Raja's son, and when he came the tiger and his wife
made him a great many salaams. Then they gave him a good dinner, and he
stayed with them for three days. Every day he looked at the tiger's foot, and
the third day it was quite healed. Then he said good-bye to the tigers, and
the tiger said to him, "If ever you are in trouble, think of me, and we will
come to you."

The Raja's son rode on and on till he came to a third jungle. Here he found
four fakirs whose teacher and master had died, and had left four things,--a
bed, which carried whoever sat on it whithersoever he wished to go; a bag,
that gave its owner whatever he wanted, jewels, food or clothes; a stone
bowl that gave its owner as much water as he wanted, no matter how far he
might be from a tank; and a stick and rope, to which its owner had only to
say, if any one came to make war on him, "Stick, beat as many men and
soldiers as are here," and the stick would beat them and the rope would tie
them up.

The four fakirs were quarrelling over these four things. One said, "I want
this;" another said,." You cannot have it, for I want it;" and so on.
 12

The Raja's son said to them, "Do not quarrel for these things. I will shoot
four arrows in four different directions. Whichever of you gets to my first
arrow, shall have the first thing--the bed. Whosoever gets to the second
arrow, shall have the second thing--the bag. He who gets to the third arrow,
shall have the third thing--the bowl. And he who gets to the fourth arrow,
shall have the last things--the stick and rope." To this they agreed. And the
prince shot off his first arrow. Away raced the fakirs to get it. When they
brought it back to him he shot off the second, and when they had found and
brought it to him he shot off his third, and when they had brought him the
third he shot off the fourth.

While they were away looking for the fourth arrow the Raja's son let his
horse loose in the jungle and sat on the bed, taking the bowl, the stick and
rope, and the bag with him. Then he said, "Bed, I wish to go to the Princess
Labam's country." The little bed instantly rose up into the air and began to
fly, and it flew and flew till it came to the Princess Labam's country, where it
settled on the ground. The Raja's son asked some men he saw, "Whose
country is this?"

"The Princess Labam's country," they answered. Then the prince went on till
he came to a house where he saw an old woman.

"Who are you? "she said. "Where do you come from?"

"I come from a far country," he said; "do let me stay with you to-night."

"No," she answered, "I cannot let you stay with me; for our king has ordered
that men from other countries may not stay in his country. You cannot stay
in my house."

"You are my aunty," said the prince; "let me remain with you for this one
night. You see it is evening, and if I go into the jungle, then the wild beasts
will eat me."

"Well," said the old woman, "you may stay here tonight; but to-morrow
morning you must go away, for if the king hears you have passed the night
in my house, he will have me seized and put into prison."
 13

Then she took him into her house, and the Raja's son was very glad. The old
woman began preparing dinner, but he stopped her. "Aunty," he said, " I will
give you food." He put his hand into his bag, saying, "Bag, I want some
dinner," and the. bag gave him instantly a delicious dinner, served up on two
gold plates. The old woman and the Raja's son then dined together.

When they had finished eating, 'the old woman said, "Now I will fetch some
water."

"Don't go," said the prince. "You shall have plenty of water directly." So he
took his bowl and said to it, "Bowl, I want some water," and then it filled
with water. When it was full, the prince cried out, "Stop, bowl!" and the
bowl stopped filling. "See, aunty," he said, "with this bowl I can always get
as much water as I want."

By this time night had come. "Aunty," said the Raja's son, "why don't you
light a lamp?"

"There is no need," she said. "Our king has forbidden the people in his
country to light any lamps; for, as soon as it is dark, his daughter, the
Princess Labam, comes and sits on her roof, and she shines so that she lights
up all the country and our houses, and we can see to do our work as if it
were day."

When it was quite black night the princess got up. She dressed herself in her
rich clothes and jewels, and rolled up her hair, and across her head she put a
band of diamonds and pearls. Then she shone like the moon and her beauty
made night day. She came out of her room and sat on the roof of her palace.
In the daytime she never came out of her house; she only came out at night.
All the people in her father's country then went about their work and
finished it.

The Raja's son watched the princess quietly, and was very happy. He said to
himself, " How lovely she is!"

At midnight, when everybody had gone to bed, the princess came down
from her roof and went to her room; and when she was in bed and asleep,
the Raja's son got up softly and sat on his bed. "Bed," he said to it, "I want
 14

to go to the Princess Labam's bed-room." So the little bed carried him to the
room where she lay fast asleep.

The young Raja took his bag and said, "I want a great deal of betel-leaf," and
it at once gave him quantities of betel-leaf. This he laid near the princess's
bed, and then his little bed carried him back to the old woman's house.

Next morning all the princess's servants found the betel-leaf, and began to
eat it.

"Where did you get all that betel-leaf?" asked the princess.

"We found it near your bed," answered the servants. Nobody knew the
prince had come in the night and put it all there.

In the morning the old woman came to the Raja's son. "Now it is morning,"
she said, "and you must go; for if the king finds out all I have done for you,
he will seize me."

"I am ill to-day, dear aunty," said the prince; "do let me stay till to-morrow
morning."

"Good," said the old woman. So he stayed, and they took their dinner out of
the bag, and the bowl gave them water.

When night came the princess got up and sat on her roof, and at twelve
o'clock, when every one was in bed, she went to her bed-room, and was
soon fast asleep. Then the Raja's son sat on his bed, and it carried him to the
princess. He took his bag and said, "Bag, I want a most lovely shawl;" It gave
him a splendid shawl, and he spread it over the princess as she lay asleep.
Then he went back to the old woman's house and slept till morning.

In the morning, when the princess saw the shawl she was delighted. "See,
mother," she said; "Khuda must have given me this shawl, it is so beautiful."
Her mother was very glad too. "Yes, my child," she said; "Khuda must have
given you this splendid shawl."

When it was morning the old woman said to the Raja's son, "Now you must
really go."
 15

"Aunty," he answered, "I am not well enough yet. Let me stay a few days
longer. I will remain hidden in your house, so that no one may see me." So
the old woman let him stay.

When it was black night, the princess put on her lovely. clothes and jewels
and sat on her roof. At midnight she went to her room and went to sleep.
Then the Raja's son sat on his bed and flew to her bed-room. There he said
to his bag, "Bag, I want a very, very beautiful ring." The bag gave him a
glorious ring. Then he took the Princess Labam's hand gently to put on the
ring, and she started up very much frightened.

"Who are you?" she said to the prince. "Where do you come from? Why do
you come to my room?"

"Do not be afraid, princess," he said; "I am no thief. I am a great Raja's son.
Hiraman parrot, who lives in the jungle where I went to hunt, told me your
name, and then I left my father and mother and came to see you."

"Well," said the princess, "as you are the son of such a great kaja, I will not
have you killed, and I will tell my father and mother that I wish to marry
you."

The prince then returned to the old woman's house; and when morning
came the princess said to her mother, "The son of a great Raja has come to
this country, and I wish to marry him." Her mother told this to the king.

"Good," said the king; "but if this Raja's son wishes to marry my daughter,
he must first do whatever I bid him. If he fails I will kill him. I will give him
eighty pounds weight of mustard seed, and out of this he must crush the oil
in one day. If he cannot do this he shall die."

In the morning the Raja's son told the old woman that he intended to marry
the princess. "Oh," said the old woman, "go away from this country, and do
not think of marrying her. A great many Rajas and Rajas' sons have come
here to marry her, and her father has had them all killed. He says whoever
wishes to marry his daughter must first do whatever he bids him. If he can,
then he shall marry the princess; if he cannot, the king will have him killed.
But no one can do the things the king tells him to do; so all the Rajas and
 16

Rajas' sons who have tried have been put to death. You will be killed too, if
you try. Do go away." But the prince would not listen to anything she said.

The king sent for the prince to the old woman's. house, and his servants
brought the Raja's son to the king's courthouse to the king. There the king
gave him eighty pounds of mustard seed, and told him to crush all the oil out
of it that day, and bring it next morning to him to the courthouse. "Whoever
wishes to marry my daughter." he said to the prince, "must first do all I tell
him. If he cannot, then I have him killed. So if you cannot crush all the oil out
of this mustard seed you will die."

The prince was very sorry when he heard this. "How can I crush the oil out of
all this mustard seed in one thy?" he said to himself; "and if I do not, the king
will kill me." He took the mustard seed to the old woman's house, and did
not know what to do. At last he remembered the Ant-Raja, and the moment
he did so, the Ant-Raja and his ants came to him. "Why do you look so sad?"
said the Ant-Raja.

The prince showed him the mustard seed, and said to him, "How can I crush
the oil out of all this mustard seed in one day? And if I do not take the oil to
the king to-morrow morning, he will kill me."

"Be happy," said the Ant-Raja; "lie down and sleep; we will crush all the oil
out for you during the day, and to-morrow morning you shall take it to the
king." The Raja's son lay down and slept, and the ants crushed out the oil for
him. The prince was very glad when he saw the oil.

The next morning he took it to the court-house to the king. But the king
said," You cannot yet marry my daughter. If you wish to do so, you must first
fight with my two demons, and kill them." The king a long time ago had
caught two demons, and then, as he did not know what to do with them, he
had shut them up in a cage. He was afraid to let them loose for fear they
would eat up all the people in his country; and he did not know how to kill
them. So all the kings and kings' sons who wanted to marry the Princess
Labam had to fight with these demons; "for," said the king to himself,
"perhaps the demons may be killed, and then I shall be rid of them."
 17

When he heard of the demons the Raja's son was very sad. "What can I do?"
he said to himself. "How can I fight with these two demons?" Then he
thought of his tiger: and the tiger and his wife came to him and said, "Why
are you so sad?" The Raja's son answered, "The king has ordered me to fight
with his two demons and kill them. How can I do this? " "Do not be
frightened," said the tiger. "Be happy. I and my wife will fight with them for
you."

Then the Raja's son took out of his bag two splendid coats. They were all
gold and silver, and covered with pearls and diamonds. These he put on the
tigers to make them beautiful, and he took them to the king, and said to
him,. "May these tigers fight your demons for me?"

"Yes," said' the king, who did not care in the least who killed his demons,
provided they were killed. "Then call your demons," said the Raja's son,
"and these tigers will fight them." The king did so, and the tigers and the
demons fought and fought until the tigers had killed the demons.

"That is good," said the king. "But you must do something else before I give
you my daughter. Up in the sky I have a kettle-drum. You must go and beat
it. If you cannot do this, I will kill you."

The Raja's son thought of his little bed; so he went to the old woman's
house and sat on his bed. "Little bed!' he said, "up in the sky is the king's
kettle-drum. I want to go to it." The bed flew up with him, and the Raja's son
beat the drum, and the king heard him. Still, when he came down, the king
would not give him his daughter. "You have," he said to the prince, "done
the three things I told you to do; but you must do one thing more."

"If I can, I will," said the Raja's son.

Then the king showed him the trunk of a tree that was lying near his court-
house. It was a very, very, thick trunk. He gave the prince a wax hatchet, and
said, "Tomorrow morning you must cut this trunk in two with this wax
hatchet."
 18

The Raja's son went back to the old woman's house. He was very sad, and
thought that now the Raja would certainly kill him. "I had his oil crushed out
by the ants," he said to himself. "I had his demons killed by the tigers. My
bed helped me to beat his kettle-drum. But now what can I do? How can I
cut that thick tree-trunk in two with a wax hatchet?"

At night he went on his bed to see the princess. "To morrow," he said to her,
"your father will kill me." "Why?" asked the princess.

"He has told me to cut a thick tree-trunk in two with a wax hatchet. How can
I ever do that?" said the Raja's son. "Do not be afraid," said the princess; "do
as I bid you, and you will cut it in two quite easily."

Then she pulled out a hair from her head and gave it to the prince. "To-
morrow," she said, "when no one is near you, you must say to the tree-
trunk, 'The Princess Labam commands you to let yourself be cut in two by
this hair. Then stretch the hair down the edge of the wax hatchet's blade."

The prince next day did exactly as the princess had told him; and the minute
the hair that was stretched down the edge of the hatchet-blade touched the
tree-trunk it split into two pieces.
 19

The king said, "Now you can marry my daughter." Then the wedding took
place. All the Rajas and kings of the countries round were asked to come to
it, and there were great rejoicings. After a few days the prince's son said to
his wife, "Let us go to my father's country." The Princess Labam's father
gave them a quantity of camels and horses and rupees and servants; and
they travelled in great state to the prince's country, where they lived
happily.

The prince always kept his bag, bowl, bed, and stick; only, as no one ever
came to make war on him, he never needed to use the stick.
 20

THE LAMBIKIN

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 who 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.

 21

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.
 22

"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:

"Fallen into the fire, and so will 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:
 23

"Drumikin! Drumikin!
Have you seen Lambikin?"

And to each of them the little slyboots replied:

"Fallen into the fire, and so will you

On little Drumikin. Tum-pa, tum-too;
Tum-pa, tum-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 Lambikin, curled up in his snug little nest, replied gaily:

"Fallen into the fire, and so will 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.

 24

PUNCHKIN

ONCE upon a time there was a Raja who had seven beautiful daughters.
They were all good girls; but the youngest, named Balna, was more clever
than the rest. The Raja's wife died when they were quite little children, so
these seven poor Princesses were left with no mother to take care of them.

The Raja's daughters took it by turns to cook their father's dinner every day,
whilst he was absent deliberating with his Ministers on the affairs of the
nation.

About this time the Prudhan died, leaving a widow and one daughter; and
every day, every day, when the seven Princesses were preparing their
father's dinner, the Prudhan's widow and daughter would come and beg for
a little fire from the hearth. Then Balna used to say to her sisters, "Send that
woman away; send her away. Let her get the fire at her own house. What
does she want with ours? If we allow her to come here, we shall suffer for it
some day."
 25

But the other sisters would answer, "Be quiet, Balna; why must you always
be quarrelling with this poor woman? Let her take some fire if she likes."
Then the Prudhan's widow used to go to the hearth and take a few sticks
from it; and whilst no one was looking, she would quickly throw some mud
into the midst of the dishes which were being prepared for the Raja's
dinner.

Now the Raja was very fond of his daughters. Ever since their mother's
death they had cooked his dinner with their own hands, in order to avoid the
danger of his being poisoned by his enemies. So, when he found the mud
mixed up with his dinner, he thought it must arise from their carelessness,
as it did not seem likely that any one should have put mud there on purpose;
but being very kind he did not like to reprove them for it, although this
spoiling of the curry was repeated many successive days.

At last, one day, he determined to hide, and watch his daughters cooking,
and see how it all happened; so he went into the next room, and watched
them through a hole in the wall.

There he saw his seven daughters carefully washing the rice and preparing
the curry, and as each dish was completed, they put it by the fire ready to be
cooked. Next he noticed the Prudhan's widow come to the door and beg for
a few sticks from the fire to cook her dinner with Balna turned to her angrily
and said, "Why don't you keep fuel in your own house, and not come here
every day and take ours? Sisters, don't give this woman any more wood; let
her buy it for herself."

Then the eldest sister answered, "Balna, let the poor woman take the wood
and the fire; she does us no harm." But Balna replied, "If you let her come
here so often, maybe she will do us some harm, and make us sorry for it
some day."

The Raja then saw the Prudhan's widow go to the place where all his dinner
was nicely prepared, and, as she took the wood, she threw a little mud into
each of the dishes.

At this he was very angry, and sent to have the woman seized and brought
before him. But when the widow came, she told him that she had played
 26

this trick because she wanted to gain an audience with him; and she spoke
so cleverly, and pleased him so well with her cunning words, that, instead of
punishing her, the Raja married her, and made her his Ranee, and she and
her daughter came to live in the palace.

Now the new Ranee hated the seven poor Princesses, and wanted to get
them, if possible, out of the way, in order that her daughter might have all
their riches, and live in the palace as Princess in their place; and instead of
being grateful to them for their kindness to her, she did all she could to
make them miserable. She gave them nothing but bread to eat, and very
little of that, and very little water to drink; so these seven poor little
Princesses, who had been accustomed to have everything comfortable
about them, and good food and good clothes all their lives long, were very
miserable and unhappy; and they used to go out every day and sit by their
dead mother's tomb and cry--and say:

"Oh mother, mother, cannot you see your poor children, how unhappy we
are, and how we are starved by our cruel step-mother?"

One day, whilst they were thus sobbing and crying, lo and behold! a
beautiful pomelo-tree grew up out of the grave, covered with fresh ripe
pomeloes, and the children satisfied their hunger by eating some of the
fruit; and every day after this, instead of trying to eat the bad dinner their
step-mother provided for them, they used to go out to their mother's grave
and eat the pomeloes which grew there on the beautiful tree.

Then the Ranee said to her daughter, "I cannot tell how it is, every day those
seven girls say they don't want any dinner, and won't eat any; and yet they
never grow thin nor look ill; they look better than you do. I cannot tell how it
is." And she bade her watch the seven Princesses, and see if any one gave
them anything to eat.

So next day, when the Princesses went to their mother's grave, and were
eating the beautiful pomeloes, the Prudhan's daughter followed them and
saw them gathering the fruit.
 27

Then Balna said to her sisters, "Do you not see that girl watching us? Let us
drive her away, or hide the pomeloes, else she will go and tell her mother all
about it, and that will be very bad for us."

But the other sisters said, "Oh no, do not be unkind, Balna. The girl would
never be so cruel as to tell her mother. Let us rather invite her to come and
have some of the fruit."

And calling her to them, they gave her one of the pomeloes.

No sooner had she eaten it, however, than the Prudhan's daughter went
home and said to her mother, "I do not wonder the seven Princesses will not
eat the dinner you prepare for them, for by their mother's grave there
grows a beautiful pomelo-tree, and they go there every day and eat the
pomeloes. I ate one, and it was the nicest I have ever tasted."

The cruel Ranee was much vexed at hearing this, and all next day she stayed
in her room, and told the Raja that she had a very bad headache. The Raja
was deeply grieved, and said to his wife, "What can I do for you?" She
answered, "There is only one thing that will make my headache well. By your
dead wife's tomb there grows a fine pomelo-tree; you must bring that here
and boil it, root and branch, and put a little of the water in which it has been
boiled on my forehead, and that will cure my headache." So the Raja sent his
servants, and had the beautiful pomelo-tree pulled up by the roots, and did
as the Ranee desired; and when some of the water in which it had been
boiled was put on her forehead, she said her headache was gone and she
felt quite well.

Next day, when the seven Princesses went as usual to the grave of their
mother, the pomelo-tree had disappeared. Then they all began to cry very
bitterly.

Now there was by the Ranee's tomb a small tank, and as they were crying
they saw that the tank was filled with a rich cream-like substance, which
quickly hardened into a thick white cake. At seeing this all the Princesses
were very glad, and they ate some of the cake and liked it; and next day the
same thing happened, and so it went on for many days. Every morning the
Princesses went to their mother's grave, and found the little tank filled with
 28

the nourishing cream-like cake. Then the cruel step-mother said to her
daughter: "I cannot tell how it is, I have had the pomelo-tree which used to
grow by the Ranee's grave destroyed, and yet the Princesses grow no
thinner, nor look more sad, though they never eat the dinner I give them. I
cannot tell how it is! "

And her daughter said, "I will watch."

Next day, while the Princesses were eating the cream-cake, who should
come by but their step-mother's daughter. Balna saw her first, and said,
"See, sisters, there comes that girl again. Let us sit round the edge of the
tank and not allow her to see it, for if we give her some of our cake, she will
go and tell her mother, and that will be very unfortunate for us.

The other sisters, however, thought Balna unnecessarily suspicious, and,

instead of following her advice, they gave the Prudhan's daughter, some of
the cake, and she went home and told her mother all about it.

The Ranee, on hearing how well the Princesses fared, was exceedingly
angry, and sent her servants to pull down the dead Ranee's tomb and fill the
little tank with the ruins. And not content with this, she next day pretended
to be very, very ill--in fact, at the point of death--and when the Raja was
much grieved, and asked her whether it was in his power to procure her any
remedy, she said to him:

"Only one thing can save my life, but I know you will not 'do it." He replied,
"Yes, whatever it is, I will do it." She then said, "To save my life, you must kill
the seven daughters of your first wife, and put some of their blood on my
forehead and on the palms of my hands, and their death will be my life." At
these words the Raja was very sorrowful; but because he feared to break his
word, he went out with a heavy heart to find his daughters.

He found them crying by the ruins of their mother's grave.

Then, feeling he could not kill them, the Raja spoke kindly to them, and told
them to come out into the jungle with him; and there he made a fire and
cooked some rice, and gave it to them. But in the afternoon, it being very
hot, the seven Princesses all fell asleep, and when he saw they were fast
asleep, the Raja, their father, stole away and left them (for he feared, his
 29

wife), saying to himself: "It is better my poor daughters should die here than
be killed by their step-mother."

He then shot a deer, and returning home, put some of its blood on the
forehead and hands of the Ranee, and she thought then that he had really
killed the Princesses, and said she felt quite well.

Meantime the seven Princesses awoke, and when they found themselves all
alone in the thick jungle they were much frightened, and began to call out as
loud as they could, in hopes of making their father hear; but he was by that
time far away, and would not have been able to hear them even had their
voices been as loud as thunder.

It so happened that this very day the seven young sons of a neighbouring
Raja chanced to be hunting in that same jungle, and as they were returning
home, after the day's sport was over, the youngest Prince said to his
brothers:

"Stop, I think I hear some one crying and calling out. Do you not hear voices?
Let us go in the direction of the sound, and find out what it is."

So the seven Princes rode through the wood until they came to the place
where the seven Princesses sat crying and wringing their hands. At the sight
of them the young Princes were very much astonished, and still more so on
learning their story; and they settled that each should take one of these
poor forlorn ladies home with him and marry her.

So the first and eldest Prince took the eldest Princess home with him and
married her.

And the second took the second;

And the third took the third;

And the fourth took the fourth;

And the fifth took the fifth;

And the sixth took the sixth;

And the seventh, and the handsomest of all, took the beautiful Balna.
 30

And when they got to their own land there was great rejoicing throughout
the kingdom at the marriage of the seven young Princes to seven such
beautiful Princesses.

About a year after this Balna had a little son, and his uncles and aunts were
so fond of the boy that it was as if he had seven fathers and seven mothers.
None of the other Princes and Princesses had any children, so the son of the
seventh Prince and Balna was acknowledged their heir by all the rest.

They had thus lived very happily for some time, when one fine day the
seventh Prince (Balna's husband) said he would go out hunting, and away
he went; and they waited long for him, but he never came back.

Then his six brothers said they would go and see what had become of him;
and they went away, but they also did not return.

And the seven Princesses grieved very much, for they feared that their kind
husbands must have been killed.

One day, not long after this had happened, as Balna was rocking her baby's
cradle, and whilst her sisters were working in the room below, there came
to the palace door a man in a long black dress, who said that he was a Fakir,
and came to beg. The servants said to him, "You cannot go into the palace--
the Raja's sons have all gone away; we think they must be dead, and their
widows cannot be interrupted by your begging." But he said, "I am a holy
man, you must let me in." Then the stupid servants let him walk through the
palace, but they did not know that this was no Fakir, but a wicked Magician
named Punchkin.

Punchkin Fakir wandered through the palace, and saw many beautiful things
there, till at last he reached the room where Balna sat singing beside her
little boy's cradle. The Magician thought her more beautiful than all the
other beautiful things he had seen, insomuch that he asked her to go home
with him and to marry him. But she said, "My husband, I fear, is dead, but
my little boy is still quite young; I will stay here and teach him to grow up a
clever man, and when he is grown up he shall go out into the world, and try
and learn tidings of his father. Heaven forbid that I should ever leave him, or
marry you." At these words the Magician was very angry, and turned her
 31

into a little black dog, and led her away, saying, "Since you will not come
with me of your own free will, I will make you." So the poor Princess was
dragged away, without any power of effecting an escape or of letting her
sisters know what had become of her. As Punchkin passed through the
palace gate the servants said to him, "Where did you get that pretty little
dog?" And he answered, "One of the Princesses gave it to me as a present."
At hearing which they let him go without further questioning.

Soon after this, the six elder Princesses heard the little baby, their nephew,
begin to cry, and when they went upstairs they were much surprised to find
him all alone, and Balna nowhere to be seen. Then they questioned the
servants, and when they heard of the Fakir and the little black dog, they
guessed what had happened, and sent in every direction seeking them, but
neither the Fakir nor the dog were to be found. What could six poor women
do? They gave up all hopes of ever seeing their kind husbands, and their
sister, and her husband, again, and devoted themselves thenceforward to
teaching and taking care of their little nephew.

Thus time went on, till Balna's son was fourteen years old, Then, one day, his
aunts told him the history of the family; and no sooner did he hear it than he
was seized with great desire to go in search of his father and mother and
uncles, and if he could find them alive to bring them home again. His aunts,
on learning his determination, were much alarmed, and tried to dissuade
him, saying, "We have lost our husbands and our sister and her husband,
and you are now our sole hope; if you go away, what shall we do?" But he
replied, " I pray you not to be discouraged; I will return soon, and if it is
possible bring my father and mother and uncles with me." So he set out on
his travels; but for some months he could learn nothing to help him in his
search.

At last, after he had journeyed many hundreds of weary miles, and become
almost hopeless of ever hearing anything further of his parents, he one day
came to a country that seemed full of stones, and rocks, and trees, and
there he saw a large palace with a high tower; hard by which was a Maee's
little house.
 32

As he was looking about, the Malee's wife saw him, and ran out of the house
and said, "My dear boy, who are you that dare venture to this dangerous
place?" He answered, "I am a Raja's son, and I come in search of my father,
and my uncles, and my mother, whom a wicked enchanter bewitched."

Then the Malee's wife said, "This country and this palace belong to a great
enchanter; he is all-powerful, and if any one displeases him he can turn them
into stones and trees. All the rocks and trees you see here were living
people once, and the Magician turned them to what they now are. Some
time ago a Raja's son came here, and shortly afterwards came his six
brothers, and they were all turned into stones and trees; and these are not
the only unfortunate ones, for up in that tower lives a beautiful Princess,
whom the Magician has kept prisoner there for twelve years, because she
hates him and will not marry him."

Then the little Prince thought, "These must be my parents and my uncles. I
have found what I seek at last." So he told his story to the Malee's wife, and
begged her to help him to remain in that place awhile and inquire further
concerning the unhappy people she mentioned; and she promised to
befriend him, and advised his disguising himself lest the Magician should see
him, and turn him likewise into stone. To this the Prince agreed. So the
Malee's wife dressed him up in a saree, and pretended that he was her
daughter.

One day, not long after this, as the Magician was walking in his garden he
saw the little girl (as he thought) playing about, and asked her who she was.
She told him she was the Malee's daughter, and the Magician said, "You are
a pretty little girl, and to-morrow you shall take a present of flowers from
me to the beautiful lady who lives in the tower.

The young Prince was much delighted at hearing this, and went immediately
to inform the Malee's wife; after consultation with whom he determined
that it would be more safe for him to retain his disguise and trust to the
chance of a favourable opportunity for establishing some communication
with his mother, if it were indeed she.

Now it happened that at Balna's marriage her husband had given her a small
gold ring on which her name was engraved, and she had put it on her little
 33

son's finger when he was a baby, and afterwards when be was older his
aunt had had it enlarged for him, so that he was still able to wear it. The
Melee's wife advised him to fasten the well-known treasure to one of the
bouquets he presented to his mother, and trust to her recognising it. This
was not to be done without difficulty, as such a strict watch was kept over
the poor Princess (for fear of her ever establishing communication with her
friends) that, though the supposed Malee's daughter was permitted to take
her flowers every day, the Magician or one of his slaves was always in the
room at the time. At last one day, however, opportunity favoured him, and
when no one was looking, the boy tied the ring to a nosegay and threw it at
Balna's feet. It fell with a clang on the floor, and Balna, looking to see what
made the strange sound, found the little ring tied to the flowers. On
recognising it, she at once believed the story her son told her of his long
search, and begged him to advise her as to what she had better do; at the
same time entreating him on no account to endanger his life by trying to
rescue her. She told him that for twelve long years the Magician had kept
her shut up in the tower because she refused to marry him, and she was so
closely guarded that she saw no hope of release.

Now Balna's son was a bright, clever boy, so he said, "Do not fear, dear
mother; the first thing to do is to discover how far the Magician's power
extends, in order that we may be able to liberate my father and uncles,
whom he has imprisoned in the form of rocks and trees. You have spoken to
him angrily for twelve long years; now rather speak kindly. Tell him you have
given up all hopes of again seeing the husband you have so long mourned,
and say you are willing to marry him. Then endeavour to find out what his
power consists in, and whether he is immortal, or can be put to death."

Balna determined to take her son's advice; and the next day sent for
Punchkin, and spoke to him as had been suggested.

The Magician, greatly delighted, begged her to allow the wedding to take
place as soon as possible.

But she told him that before she married him he must allow her a little more
time. in which she might make his acquaintance, and that, after being
enemies so long, their friendship could but strengthen by degrees. "And do
 34

tell me," she said, "are you quite immortal? Can death never touch you? And
are you too great an enchanter ever to feel human suffering?"

"Why do you ask?" said he.

"Because," she replied, "if I am to be your wife, I would fain know all about
you, in order, if any calamity threatens you, to overcome, or if possible to
avert it."

"It is true," he added, "that I am not as others. Far, far away, hundreds of
thousands of miles from this, there lies a desolate country covered with
thick jungle. In the midst of the jungle grows a circle of palm trees, and in
the centre of the circle stand six chattees full of water, piled one above
another: below the sixth chattee is a small cage which contains a little green
parrot; on the life of the parrot depends my life; and if the parrot is killed I
must die. It is, however," he added, "impossible that the parrot should
sustain any injury, both on account of the inaccessibility of the country, and
because, by my appointment, many thousand genii surround the palm-trees,
and kill all who approach the place."

Balna told her son what Punchkin had said; but at the same time implored
him to give up all idea of getting the parrot.

The Prince, however, replied, "Mother, unless I can get hold of that parrot,
you, and my father, and uncles, cannot be liberated: be not afraid, I will
shortly return. Do you meantime, keep the Magician in good humour--still
putting off your marriage with him on various pretexts; and before he finds
out the cause of delay, I will be here." So saying, he went away.

Many, many weary miles did he travel, till at last he came to a thick jungle;
and, being very tired, sat down under a tree and fell asleep. He was
awakened by a soft rustling sound, and looking about him, saw a large
serpent which was making its way to an eagle's nest built in the tree under
which he lay, and in the nest were two young eagles. The Prince seeing the
danger of the young birds, drew his sword and killed the serpent; at the
same moment a rushing sound was heard in the air, and the two old eagles,
who had been out hunting for food for their young ones, returned. They
quickly saw the dead serpent and the young Prince standing over it; and the
 35

old mother eagle said to him, "Dear boy, for many years all our young ones
have been devoured by that cruel serpent; you have now saved the lives of
our children; whenever you are in need 'therefore, send to, us and we will
help you; and as for these little eagles, take them, and let them be your
servants."

At this the Prince was very glad, and the two eaglets crossed their wings, on
which he mounted; and they carried him far, far away over the thick jungles,
until be came to the place where grew the circle of palm-trees, in the midst
of which stood the six chattees full of water. It was the middle of the day,
and the heat was very great. All round the trees were the genii fast asleep;
nevertheless, there were such countless thousands of them, that it would
have been quite impossible for anyone to walk through their ranks to the
place; down swooped the strong-winged eaglets--down jumped the Prince;
in an instant he had overthrown the six chattees full of water, and seized
the little green parrot, which he rolled up in his cloak; while, as he mounted
again into the air, all the genii below awoke, and finding their treasure gone,
set up a wild and melancholy howl.

Away, away flew the little eagles, till they came to their home in the great
tree; then the Prince said to the old eagles, "Take back your little ones; they
have done me good service; if ever again I stand in need of help, I will not
fail to come to you." He then continued his journey on foot till he arrived
once more at the Magician's palace, where he sat down at the door and
began playing with the parrot. Punchkin saw him, and came to him quickly,
and said, "My boy, where did you get that parrot? Give it to me, I pray you."

But the Prince answered, "Oh no, I cannot give away my parrot, it is a great
pet of mine; I have bad it many years."

Then the Magician said, "If it is an old favourite, I can understand you not
caring to give it away; but come, what will you sell it for?"

"Sir," replied the Prince, "I will not sell my parrot."

Then Punchkin got frightened, and said, "Anything, anything; name what
price you will, and it shall be yours." The Prince answered, "Let the seven
Raja's sons whom you turned into rocks and trees be instantly liberated."
 36

"It is done as you desire," said the Magician, "only give me my parrot." And
with that, by a stroke of his wand, Balna's husband and his brothers
resumed their natural shapes. "Now, give me my parrot," repeated
Punchkin.

"Not so fast, my master," rejoined the Prince; "I must first beg that you will
restore to life all whom you have thus imprisoned."

The Magician immediately waved his Wand again; and, whilst he cried, in an
imploring voice, "Give me my parrot!" the whole garden became suddenly
alive: where rocks, and stones, and trees had been before, stood Rajas, and
Punts, and Sirdars, and mighty men on prancing horses, and jewelled pages,
and troops of armed attendants.

"Give me my parrot!" cried Punchkin; Then the boy took bold of the parrot,
and tore off one of its wings; and as he did so the Magician's right arm fell
off.

Punchkin then stretched out his left arm, crying, "Give me my parrot!" The
Prince pulled off the parrot's second wing, and the Magician's left arm
tumbled off.

"Give me my parrot!" cried he, and be fell on his knees. The Prince pulled off
the parrot's right leg, the Magician's right leg fell off: the Prince pulled off
the parrot's left leg, down fell the Magician's left.

Nothing remained of him save the limbless body and the head; but still be
rolled his eyes, and cried, "Give me my parrot!" "Take your parrot, then,"
cried the boy, and with that he wrung the bird's neck and threw it at the
Magician; and, as he did so, Punchkin's head twisted round, and, with a
fearful groan, be died!
 37

Then they let Balna out of the tower; and she, her son, and the seven
Princes went to their own country, and lived very happily ever afterwards.
And as to the rest of the world, every one went to his own house.
 38

THE BROKEN POT

THERE lived in a certain place a Brahman, whose name was

Svabhavakripana, which means "a born miser." He had collected a quantity
of rice by begging, and after having dined off it, he filled a pot with what
was left over. He hung the pot on a peg on the wall, placed his couch
beneath, and looking intently at it all the night, he thought, "Ah, that pot is
indeed brimful of rice. Now, if there should be a famine, I should certainly
make a hundred rupees by it. With this I shall buy a couple of goats. They will
have young ones every six months, and thus I shall have a whole herd of
goats. Then, with the goats, I shall buy cows. As soon as they have calved, I
shall sell the calves. Then, with the calves, I shall buy buffaloes; with the
buffaloes, mares. When the mares have foaled, I shall have plenty of horses;
and when I sell them, plenty of gold. With that gold I shall get a house with
four wings.
 39

And then a Brahman will come to my house, and will give me his beautiful
daughter, with a large dowry. She will have a son, and I shall call him
Somasarman. When he is old enough to be danced on his father's knee, I
shall sit with a book at the back of the stable, and while I am reading, the
boy will see me, jump from his mother's lap, and run towards me to be
danced on my knee. He will come too near the horse's hoof, and, full of
anger, I shall call to my wife, 'Take the baby; take him!' But she, distracted by
some domestic work, does not hear me. Then I get up, and give her such a
kick with my foot." While he thought this, he gave a kick with his foot, and
broke the pot. All the rice fell over him, and made him quite white.
Therefore, I say, "He who makes foolish plans for the future will be white all
over, like the father of Somasarman."
 40

THE MAGIC FIDDLE

ONCE upon a time there lived seven brothers and a sister. The brothers were
married, but their wives did not do the cooking for the family. It was done
by their sister, who stopped at home to cook. The wives for this reason bore
their sister-in-law much ill-will, and at length they combined together to oust
her from the office of cook and general provider, so that one of themselves
might obtain it. They said, "She does not go out to the fields to work, but
remains quietly at home, and yet she has not the meals ready at the proper
time."
 41

They then called upon their Bonga, and vowing vows unto them they
secured his good-will and assistance; then they said to the Bonga, "At
midday, when our sister-in-law goes to bring, water, cause it thus to happen,
that on seeing her pitcher, the water shall vanish, and again slowly reappear.
In this way she will be delayed. Let the water not flow into her pitcher, and
you may keep the maiden as your own."

At noon, when she went to bring water, it suddenly dried up before her, and
she began to weep. Then after a while the water began slowly to rise. When
it reached her ankles she tried to fill her pitcher, but it would not go under
the water. Being frightened, she began to wail and cry to her brother:

"Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my ankles,

Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."

The water continued to rise until it reached her knee, when she began to
wail again:

"Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my knee,

Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."

The water continued to rise, and when it reached her waist, she cried again:

"Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my waist,

Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."

The water still rose, and when it reached her neck she kept on crying:

"Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my neck,

Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."

At length the water became so deep that she felt herself drowning, then she
cried aloud:

"Oh! my brother, the water measures a man's height,

Oh! my brother, the pitcher begins to fill."

The pitcher filled with water, and along with it she sank and was drowned.
The Bonga then transformed her into a Bonga like himself, and carried her
off.
 42

After a time she reappeared as a bamboo growing on the embankment of

the tank in which she had been drowned. When the bamboo had grown to
an immense size, a Jogi, who was in the habit of passing that way, seeing it,
said to himself, "This will make a splendid fiddle." So one day he brought an
axe to cut it down; but when he was about to begin, the bamboo called out,
"Do not cut at the root, cut higher up." When he lifted his axe to cut high up
the stem, the bamboo cried out, "Do not cut near the top, cut at the root."
When the Jogi again prepared himself to cut at the root as requested, the
bamboo said, "Do not cut at the root, cut higher up;" and when he was
about to cut higher up, it again called out to him, "Do not cut high up, cut at
the root." The Jogi by this time felt sure that a Bonga was frying to frighten
him, so becoming angry he cut down the bamboo at the root, and taking it
away made a fiddle out of it. The instrument had a superior tone and
delighted all who heard it. The Jogi carried it with him when he went a-
begging, and through the influence of its sweet music he returned home
every evening with a full wallet.

He now and then visited, when on his rounds, the house of the Bonga girl's
brothers, and the strains of the fiddle affected them greatly. Some of them
were moved even to tears, for the fiddle seemed to wail as one in bitter
anguish. The elder brother wished to purchase it, and offered to support the
Jogi for a whole year if he would consent to part with his wonderful
instrument. The Jogi, however, knew its value, and refused to sell it. It so
happened that the Jogi some time after went to the house of a village chief,
and after playing a tune or two on his fiddle asked for something to eat.
They offered to buy his fiddle and promised a high price for it, but he
refused to sell it, as his fiddle brought to him his means of livelihood. When
they saw that he was not to be prevailed upon, they gave him food and a
plentiful supply of liquor. Of the latter he drunk so freely that he presently
became intoxicated. While he was in this condition, they took away his
fiddle, and substituted their own old one for it. When the Jogi recovered, he
missed his instrument, and suspecting that it had been stolen asked them to
return it to him. They denied having taken it, so he had to depart leaving his
fiddle behind him. The chief's son, being a musician, used to play on the
Jogi's fiddle, and in his hands the music it gave forth delighted the ears of all
who heard it.
 43

When all the household were absent at their labours in the fields, the Bonga
girl used to come out of the bamboo fiddle, and prepared the family meal.
Having eaten her own share, she placed that of the chief's son under his
bed, and covering it up to keep off the dust, re-entered the fiddle. This
happening every day, the other members of the house-hold thought that
some girl friend of theirs was in this manner showing her interest in the
young man, so they did not trouble themselves to find out how it came
about. The young chief, however, was determined to watch, and see which
of his girl friends was so attentive to his comfort. He said in his own mind, "I
will catch her to-day, and give her a sound beating; she is causing me to be
ashamed before the others." So saying, he hid himself in a corner in a pile of
firewood. In a short time the girl came out of the bamboo fiddle and began
to dress her hair. Having completed her toilet, she cooked the meal of rice
as usual, and having eaten some herself, she placed the young man's
portion under his bed, as before, and was about to enter the fiddle again,
when he, running out from his hiding-place, caught her in his arms. The
Bonga girl exclaimed, "Fie! Fie! you may be a Don, or you maybe a Hadi of
some other caste with whom I cannot marry." He said, "No. But from to-day,
you and I are one." So they began lovingly to hold converse with each other.
When the others returned home in the evening, they saw that she was both
a human being and a Bonga, and they rejoiced exceedingly. Now in course
of time the Bonga girl's family became very poor, and her brothers on one
occasion came to the chiefs house on a visit.

The Bonga girl recognised them at once, but they did not know who she
was. She brought them water on their arrival, and afterwards set cooked
rice before 'them. Then sitting down near them, she began in wailing tones
to upbraid them on account of the treatment she had been subjected to by
their wives. She related all that had befallen her, and wound up by saying,"
You must have known it all, and yet you did not interfere to save me." And
that was all the revenge she took.
44
 45

THE CRUEL CRANE OUTWITTED

LONG ago the Bodisat was born to a forest life as the genius of a tree
standing near a certain lotus pond.

Now at that time the water used to run short at the dry season in a certain
pond, not over large, in which there were a good many fish. And a crane
thought on seeing the fish:

"I must outwit these fish somehow or other and make a prey of them."

And he went and sat down at the edge of the water, thinking hew he should
do it.

When the fish saw him, they asked him, "What are you sitting there for, lost
in thought?"

"I am sitting thinking about you," said he.

"Oh, sir what are you thinking about us?" said they.

"Why," he replied, "there is very little water in this pond, and but little for
you to eat; and the heat is so great! So I was thinking, 'What in the world will
these fish do now?' "
 46

"Yes, indeed, sir! what are we to do?" said they.

"If you will only do as I bid you, I will take you in my beak to a fine large
pond, covered with all the kinds of lotuses, and, put you into it," answered
the crane.

"That a crane should take thought for the fishes is a thing unheard of, sir,
since the world began. It's eating us, one after the other, that you're aiming
at."

"Not I! So long as you trust me, I won't eat you. But if you don't believe me
that there is such a pond, send one of you with me to go and see it."

Then they trusted him, and handed over to him one of their number--a big
fellow, blind of one eye, whom they thought sharp enough in any
emergency, afloat or ashore.

Him the crane took with him, let him go in the pond, showed him the whole
of it, brought him back, and let him go again close to the other fish. And he
told them all the glories of the pond.

And when they heard what he said, they exclaimed, "All right, sir! You may
take us with you."

Then the crane took the old purblind fish first to the bank of the other pond,
and alighted in a Varana-tree growing on the bank there. But he threw it into
a fork of the tree, struck it with his beak, and killed it; and then ate its flesh,
and threw its bones away at the foot of the tree. Then he went back and
called out:

"I've thrown that fish in; let another one come."

And in that manner he took all the fish, one by one, and ate them, till he
came back and found no more!

But there was still a crab left behind there; and the crane thought he would
eat him too, and called him out:

"I say, good crab, I've taken all, the fish away, and put them into a fine large
pond. Come along. I'll take you too!"
 47

"But how will you take hold of me to carry me along?"

"I'll bite hold of you with my beak."

"You'll let me fall if you carry me like that. I won't go with you!"

"Don't be afraid! I'll hold you quite tight all the way."

Then said the crab to himself, "If this fellow once got hold of fish, he would
never let them go in a pond! Now if he should really put me into the pond, it
would be capital; but if he doesn't--then I'll cut his throat, and kill him!" So
he said to him:

"Look here, friend, you won't be able to hold me tight enough; but we crabs
have a famous grip. If you let me catch hold of you round the neck with my
claws, I shall be glad to go with you."

And the other did not see that he was trying to outwit him, and agreed. So
the crab caught hold of his neck with his claws as securely as with a pair of
blacksmith's pincers and called out, "Off with you, now!"

And the crane took him and showed him the pond, and then turned off
towards the Varana-tree.

"Uncle! " cried the crab, "the pond lies that way, but you are taking me this
way!"

"Oh, that's it, is it?" answered the crane. "Your dear little uncle, your very
sweet nephew, you call me! You mean me to understand, I suppose, that I
am your slave, who has to lift you up and carry you about with him! Now
cast your eye upon the heap of fish-bones lying at the root of yonder
Varana-tree. Just as I have eaten those fish, every one of them, just so I will
devour you as well!"

"Ah! those fishes got eaten through their own stupidity," answered the
crab; "but I'm not going to let you eat me. On the contrary, it is you that I am
going to destroy. For you in your folly have not seen that I was outwitting
you. If we die we die both together; for I will cut off this head of yours, and
cast it to the ground!" And so saying, he gave the crane's neck a grip with his
claws, as with a vice.
 48

Then gasping, and with tears trickling from his eyes, and trembling with the
fear of death, the crane beseeched him, saying, "O my lord! Indeed I did not
intend to eat you. Grant me my life!"

"Well, well! step down into the pond, and put me in there."

And he turned round and stepped down into the pond, and placed the crab
on the mud at its edge. But the crab cut through its neck as clean as one
would cut a lotus-stalk with a hunting-knife, and then only entered the
water!

When the Genius who lived in the Varana-tree saw this strange affair, he
made the wood resound with his plaudits, uttering in a pleasant voice the
verse:

"The villain, though exceeding clever,

Shall prosper not by his villainy.
 49

He may win indeed, sharp-witted in deceit,

But only as the Crane here from the Crab!"
 50

LOVING LAILI

ONCE there was a king called King Dantal, who had a great many rupees and
soldiers and horses. He had also an only son called Prince Majnun, who was
a handsome boy with white teeth, red lips, blue eyes, red cheeks, red hair,
and a white skin. This boy was very fond of playing with the Wazir's son,
Husain Mahamat, in King Dantal's garden, which was very large and full of
delicious fruits and flowers and frees. They used to take their little knives
there and cut the fruits and eat them. King Dantal had a teacher for them to
teach them to read and write.

One day, when they were grown two fine young men, Prince Majnun said to
his father, "Husain Mahamat and I should like to go and hunt." His father
said they might go, so they got ready their horses and all else they wanted
for their hunting, and went to the Phalana country, hunting all the way, but
they only found jackals and birds.

The Raja of the Phalana country was called Munsuk Raja, and he had a
daughter named Laili, who was very beautiful; she had brown eyes and black
hair.

One night, some time before Prince Majnun came to her father's kingdom,
as she slept, Khuda sent to her an angel in the form of a man who told her
that she should marry Prince Majnun and no one else, and that this was
Khuda's command to her. When Laili woke she told her father of the angel's
visit to her as she slept; but her father paid no attention to her story. From
that time she began repeating, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun," and
would say nothing else. Even as she sat and ate her food she kept saying,
"Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun." Her father used to get quite vexed with
her. "Who is this Majnun? who ever heard of this Majnun?" he would say.

"He is the man I am to marry," said Laili. "Khuda has ordered me to marry no
one but Majnun." And she was half mad.

Meanwhile, Majnun and Husain Mahamat came to hunt in the Phalana

country; and as they were riding about, Laili came out on her horse to eat
 51

the air, and rode behind them. All the time she kept saying, "Majnun,
Majnun; I want Majnun." The prince heard her, and turned round. "Who is
calling me?" he asked. At this Laili looked at him, and the moment she saw
him she fell deeply in love with him, and she said to herself, "I am sure that is
the Prince Majnun that Khuda says I am to marry." And she went home to
her father and said, "Father, I wish to marry the prince who has come to
your kingdom; for I know he is the Prince Majnun I am to marry."

"Very well, you shall have him for your husband," said Munsuk Raja. "We will
ask him tomorrow." Laili consented to wait, although she was very
impatient. As it happened, the prince left the Phalana kingdom that night,
and when Laili heard he was gone, she went quite mad. She would not listen
to a word her father, or her mother, or her servants said to her, but went off
into the jungle, and wandered from jungle to jungle, till she got farther and
farther away from her own country. All the time she. kept saying, "Majnun,
Majnun; I want Majnun;" and so she wandered about for twelve years.
 52

At the end of the twelve years she met a fakir--he was really an angel, but
she did not know this--who asked her, "Why do you always say, 'Majnun,
Majnun; I want Majnun?" She answered, "I am the daughter of the king of
the Phalana country, and I want to find Prince Majnun; tell me where his
kingdom is."

"I think you will never get there," said the fakir, "for, it is very far from
hence, and you have to cross many rivers to reach it." But Laili said she did
not care; she must see Prince Majnun. "Well," said the fakir, "when you
come to the Bhagirathi river you will see a big fish, a Rohu; and you must get
him to carry you to Prince Majnun's country, or you will never reach it."

She went on and on, and at last she came to the Bhagirathi river. There was
a great big fish called the Rohu fish. It was yawning just as she got up to it,
and she instantly jumped down its throat into its stomach. All the time she
kept saying, "Majnun, Majnun!" At this the Rohu fish was greatly alarmed
and swam down the river as fast as he could. By degrees he got tired and
went slower, and a crow came and perched on his back, and said " Caw,
caw." "Oh, Mr. Crow," said the poor fish, "do see what is in my stomach that
makes such a noise."

"Very well," said the crow, "open your mouth wide, and I'll fly down and
see." So the Rohu opened his jaws and the crow flew down, but he came up
again very quickly. "You have a Rakshas in your stomach," said the crow,
and he flew away. This news did not comfort the poor Rohu, and he swam
on and on till he came to Prince Majnun's country. There he stopped. And a
jackal came down to the river to drink. "Oh, jackal," said the Rohu, "do tell
me what I have inside me."

"How can I tell?" said the jackal. "I cannot see unless I go inside you." So the
Rohu opened his mouth wide; and the jackal jumped down his throat; but he
came up very quickly, looking much frightened and saying, "You have a
Rakshas in your stomach, and if I don't run away quickly, I am afraid it will
eat me." So off he ran. After the jackal came an enormous snake. "Oh," says
the fish, "do tell me what I have in my stomach, for it rattles about so, and
keeps saying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun."
 53

The snake said, "Open your mouth wide, and I'll go down and see what it is."
The snake went down: when he returned he said, "You have a Rakshas in
your stomach, but if you will let me cut you open, it will come out of you."
"If you do that, I shall die," said the Rohu. "Oh no," said the snake, "you will
not, for I will give you a medicine that will make you quite well again." So the
fish agreed, and the snake got a, knife and cut him open, and out jumped
Laili.

She was now very old. Twelve years she had wandered about the jungle,
and for twelve years she had lived inside her Rohu; and she was no longer
beautiful, and had lost her teeth. The snake took her on his back and carried
her into the country, and there he put her down, and she wandered on and
on till she got to Majnun's court-house, where King Majnun was sitting.
There some men heard her crying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun," and
they asked her what she wanted. "I want King Majnun," she said.

So they went in and said to Prince Majnun, "An old woman outside says she
wants you." "I cannot leave this place," said he; "send her in here." They
brought her in and the prince asked what she wanted. "I want to marry
you," she answered. "Twenty-four years ago you came to my father the
Phalana Raja's country, and I wanted to marry you then; but you went away
without marrying me. Then I went mad, and I have wandered about all these
years looking for you." Prince Majnun said, "Very good."

"Pray to Khuda," said Laili, "to make us both young again, and then we shall
be married." So the prince prayed to Khuda, and Khuda said to him, "Touch
Laili's clothes and they will catch fire, and when they are on fire she and you
will become young again." When he touched Laili's clothes they caught fire,
and she and he became young again. And there were great feasts, and they
were married, and travelled to the Phalana country to see her father and
mother.

Now Laili's father and mother had wept so much for their daughter that
they had become quite blind, and her father kept always repeating, "Laili,
Laili, Laili." When Laili saw their blindness, she prayed to Khuda to restore
their sight to them, which he did. As soon as the father and mother saw Laili,
they hugged her and kissed her, and then they had the wedding all over
 54

again amid great rejoicings. Prince Majnun and Laili stayed with Munsuk Raja
and his wife for three years, and then they returned to King Dantal, and lived
happily for some time with him.
 55

They used to go out hunting, and they often went from country to country
to eat the air and amuse themselves.

One day Prince Majnun said to Laili, "Let us go through this jungle." "No,
no," said Laili; "if we go through this jungle, some harm will happen to me."
But Prince Majnun laughed, and went into the jungle. And as they were
going through it, Khuda thought, "I should like to know how much Prince
Majnun loves his wife. Would he be very sorry if she died? And would he
many another wife? I will see." So he sent one of his angels in the form of a
fakir into the jungle; and the angel went up to Laili, and threw some powder
in her face, and instantly she fell to the ground a heap of ashes.

Prince Majnun was in great sorrow and grief when he saw his dear Laili
turned into a little heap of ashes; and he went straight home to his father,
and for a long, long time he would not be comforted. After a great many
years he grew more cheerful and happy, and began to go again into his
father's beautiful garden with Husain Mahamat. King Dantal wished his son
to marry again. "I will only have Laili for my wife; I will not marry any other
woman," said Prince Majnun.

" How can you marry Laili? Laili is dead. She will never come back to you,"
said the father.

"Then I'll not have any wife at all?' said Prince Majnun.

Meanwhile Laili was living in the jungle where her husband had left her a
little heap of ashes. As soon as Majnun had gone, the fakir had taken her
ashes and made them quite clean, and then he had mixed clay and water
with the ashes, and made the figure of a woman with 'them, and so Laili
regained her human form, and Khuda sent life into it. But Laili had become
once more a hideous old woman, with a long, long nose, and teeth like
tusks; just such an old woman, excepting her teeth, as she had been when
she came out of the Rohu fish; and she lived in the jungle, and neither ate
nor drank, and she kept on saying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun."

At last the angel who had, come as a fakir and thrown the powder at her,
said to Khuda, "Of what use is it that this woman should sit in the jungle
crying; crying for ever, 'Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun,' and eating and
 56

drinking nothing? Let me take her to Prince Majnun." "Well," said Khuda,
"you may do so; but tell her that she must not speak to Majnun if he is afraid
of her when he sees her; and that if he is afraid when he sees her, she will
become a little white dog the next day. Then she must go to the palace, and
she will only regain her human shape when Prince Majnun loves her, feeds
her with his own food, and lets her sleep in his bed."

So the angel came to Laili again as a fakir and carried her to King Dantal's
garden. "Now," he said, "it is Khuda's command that you stay here till Prince
Majnun comes to walk in the garden, and then you may show yourself to
him. But you must not speak to him, if he is afraid of you; and should he be
afraid of you, you will the next day become a little white dog." He then told
her what she must do as a little dog to regain her human form.

Laili stayed in the garden, hidden in the tall grass, till Prince Majnun and
Husain Mahamat came to walk in the garden. King Dantal was now a very
old man, and Husain Mahamat, though he was really only as old as Prince
Majnun, looked a great deal older than the prince, who had been made
quite young again when he married Laili.

As Prince Majnun and the Wazir's son walked in the garden, they gathered
the fruit as they had done as little children, only they bit the fruit with their
teeth; they did not cut it. While Majnun was busy eating a fruit in this way,
and was talking to Husain Mahamat, he turned towards him and saw Laili
walking behind the Wazir's son.

"Oh, look, look!" he cried, "see what is following you; it is a Rakshas or a

demon, and I am sure it is going to eat us." Laili looked at him beseechingly
with all her eyes, and trembling with age and eagerness; but this only
frightened Majnun the more. "It is a Rakshas, a Rakshas!" he cried, and he
ran quickly to the palace with the Wazir's son; and as they ran away, Laili
disappeared into the jungle. They ran to King Dantal, and Majnun told him
there was a Rakshas or a demon in the garden that had come to eat them.

"What nonsense!" said his father. "Fancy two grown men being so
frightened by an old ayah or a fakir! And if it had been a Rakshas, it would
not have eaten you." Indeed King Dantal did not believe Majnun had seen
anything at all, till Husain Mahamat said the prince was speaking the exact
 57

truth. They had the garden searched for the terrible old woman, but found
nothing, and King Dantal told his son be was very silly to be so much
frightened. However, Prince Majnun would not walk in the garden any
more.

The next day Laili turned into a pretty little dog; and in this shape she came
into the palace, where Prince Majnun soon became very fond of her. She
followed him everywhere, went with him when he was out hunting, and
helped him to catch his game, and Prince Majnun fed her with milk, or
bread, or anything else be was eating, and at night the little dog slept in his
bed.

But one night the little dog disappeared, and in its stead there lay the little
old woman who had frightened him so much in the garden; and now Prince
Majnun was quite sure she was a Rakshas, or a demon, or some such
horrible thing come to eat him; and in his terror be cried out, "What do you
want? Oh, do not eat me; do not eat me!" Poor Laili answered, "Don't you
know me? I am your wife Laili, and I want to marry you. Don't you remember
how you would go through that jungle, though I begged and begged you
not to go, for I told you that harm would happen to me, and then a fakir
came and threw powder in my face, and I became a heap of ashes. But
Khuda gave me my life again, and brought me here, after I had stayed a
long, long while in the jungle crying for you, and now I am obliged to be a
little dog; but if you will marry me, I shall not be a little, dog any more."
Majnun, however, said, "How can I marry an old woman like you? how can
you be Laili? I am sure you are a Rakshas or a demon come to eat me," and
he was in great terror.

In the morning the old woman had turned into the little dog, and the prince
went to his father and told him all that had happened. "An old woman! an
old woman! always an old woman!" said his father. "You do nothing but
think of old women. How can a strong man like you be so easily frightened?"
However, when he saw that his son was really in great terror, and that he
really believed the old woman would come back at night, he advised him to
say to her, "I will marry you if you can make yourself a young girl again. How
can I marry such an old woman as you are?"
 58

That night as he lay trembling in bed the little old woman lay there in place
of the dog, crying; " Majnun, Majnun, I want to marry you. I have loved you
all these long, long years. When I was in my father's kingdom a young girl, I
knew of you, though you knew nothing of me, and we should have been
married then if you had not gone away so suddenly, and for long, long years
I followed you." "Well," said Majnun, "if you can make yourself a young girl
again, I will marry you."

Laili said, "Oh, that is quite easy. Khuda will make me a young girl again. In
two days' time you must go into the garden, and there you will, see a
beautiful fruit. You must gather it and bring it into your room and cut it open
yourself very gently, and you must not open it when your father or anybody
else is with you, but when you are quite alone; for I shall be in the fruit quite
naked, without any clothes at all on." In the morning Laili took her little
dog's form and disappeared in the garden.

Prince Majnun told all this to his father, who told him to do all the old
woman had bidden him. In two days' time he and the Wazir's son walked in
the garden, and there they saw a large, lovely red fruit. "Oh!" said the
prince, "I wonder shall I find my wife in that fruit." Husain Mahamat wanted
him to gather it and see, but he would not till he had told his father, who
said, "That must be the fruit; go and gather it." So Majnun went back and
broke the fruit off its stalk; and he said to his father, "Come with me to my
room while I open it; I am afraid to open it alone, for perhaps I shall find a
Rakshas in it that will eat me."

"No," said King Dantal; "remember, Laili will be naked; you must go alone
and do not be afraid if, after all, a Rakshas is in the fruit, for I will stay
outside the door, and you have only to call me with a loud voice, and I will
come to you, so the Raksbas will not be able to eat you."

Then Majnun took the fruit and began to cut it open tremblingly, for he
shook with fear; and when he had cut it, out stepped Laili, young and far
more beautiful than she had ever been. At the sight of her extreme beauty,
Majnun fell backwards fainting on the floor.

Laili took off his turban and wound it all round herself like a sari (for she had
no clothes at all on), and then she called King Dantal, and said to him sadly,
 59

"Why has Majnun fallen down like this? Why will he not speak to me? He
never used to be afraid of me; and he has seen me so many, many times."

King Dantal answered, "It is because you are so beautiful. You are far, far
more beautiful than you ever were. But he will be very happy directly." Then
the King got some water, and they bathed Majnun's face and gave him
some to drink, and he sat up again.

Then Laili said, "Why did you faint? Did you not see I am Laili?"

"Oh!" said Prince Majnun, "I see you are Laili come back to me, but your eyes
have grown so wonderfully beautiful that I fainted when I saw them." Then
they were all very happy, and King Dantal had all the drums in the place
beaten, and had all the musical instruments played on, and they made a
grand wedding feast, and gave presents to the servants, and rice and
quantities of rupees to the fakirs.

After some time had passed very happily, Prince Majnun and his wife went
out to eat the air. They rode on the same horse, and had only a groom with
them. They came to another kingdom, to a beautiful garden. "We must go
into that garden and see it," said Majnun.

"No, no," said Laili; "it belongs to a bad Raja, Chumman Basa, a very wicked
man." But Majnun insisted on going in, and in spite of all Laili could say, he
got off the horse to look at the flowers. Now, as he was looking at the
flowers, Laili saw Chumman Basa coming towards them, and she read in his
eyes that he meant to kill her husband and seize her. So she said to Majnun,
"Come, come, let us go; do not go near that bad man. I see in his eyes, and I
feel in my heart, that he will kill you to seize me."

"What nonsense!" said Majnun. "I believe be is a very good Raja. Anyhow, I
am so near to him that I could not get away."

"Well," said Laili, "it is better that you should be killed than I, for if I were to
be killed a second time, Khuda would not give me my life again; but I can
bring you to life if you are killed." Now Chumman Basa had come quite near,
and seemed very pleasant, so thought Prince Majnun; but when he was
speaking to Majnun, he drew his scimitar and cut off the prince's head at
one blow.
 60

Laili sat quite still on her horse, and as the Raja came towards her she said,
"Why did you kill my husband?"

"Because I want to take you," he answered.

"You cannot," said Laili.

"Yes, I can," said the Raja.

"Take me then," said Laili to Chumman Basa; so he came quite close and put
out his hand to take hers to lift her off her horse. But she put her hand in her
pocket and pulled out a tiny knife, only as long as her hand was broad, and
this knife unfolded itself in one instant till it was such a length! and then Laili
made a great sweep with her arm and her long, long knife, and off came
Chumman Basa's head at one touch.

Then Laili slipped down off her horse, and she went to Majnun's dead body,
and she cut her little finger inside her hand straight down from the top of
her nail to her palm, and out of this gushed blood like healing medicine.
Then she put Majnun's head on his shoulders, and smeared her healing
blood all over the wound, and Majnun woke up and said, What a delightful
sleep I have had! Why, I feel as if I had slept for years!" Then he got up and
saw the Raja's dead body by Laili's horse.

"What's that?" said Majnun.

"That is the wicked Raja who killed you to seize me, just as I said he would."

"Who killed him?" asked Majnun.

"I did," answered Laili, "and it was I who brought you to life."

"Do bring the poor man to life if you know how to do so," said Majnun.

"No," said Laili, "for. he is a wicked man, and will try to do you harm." But
Majnun asked her for such a long time, and so earnestly, to bring the wicked
Raja to life, that at last she said, "Jump up on the horse, then, and go far
away with the groom."

"What will you do," said Majnun, "if I leave you? I cannot leave you."
 61

"I will take care of myself," said Laili; "but this man is so wicked, he may kill
you again if you are near him." So Majnun got up on the horse, and he and
the groom went a long way off and waited for Laili. Then she set the wicked
Raja's head straight on his shoulders, and she squeezed the wound in her
finger till a little blood-medicine came out of it. Then she smeared this over
the place where her knife had passed, and just as she saw the Raja opening
his eyes, she began to run, and she ran, and ran so fast, that she outran the
Raja, who tried to catch her; and she sprang up on the horse behind her
husband, and they rode so fast, so fast, till they reached King Dantal's
palace.

There Prince Majnun told everything to his father, who was horrified and
angry. "How lucky for you that you have such a wife," he said. "Why did you
not do what she told you? But for her, you would be now dead." Then he
made a great feast out of gratitude for his son's safety, and gave many,
many rupees to the fakirs. And he made so much of Laili. He loved her
dearly; he could not do enough for her. Then he built a splendid palace for
her and his son, with a great deal of ground about it, and lovely gardens, and
gave them great wealth, and heaps of servants to wait on them. But he
would not allow any but their servants to enter their gardens and palace,
and he would not allow Majnun to go out of them, nor Laili; "for," said King
Dantal, "Laili is so beautiful, that perhaps some one may kill my son to take
her away."
 62

THE TIGER, THE BRAHMAN, 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 Brahman came by.

"Let me out of this cage, oh pious one!" cried the tiger.

"Nay, my friend," replied the Brahman 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
Brahman'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 Brahman 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.
 63

So the Brahman first asked a papal- tree what it thought of the matter, but
the papal-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 branches to feed their cattle? Don't whimper--be a man!"

Then the Brahman, sad at heart, went further 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! Whilst 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!"

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

The Brahman 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 has got so mixed up?"

The Brahman 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
Brahman, and sharpening his teeth and claws;

"You've been away a long time!" growled the savage beast, "but now let us
begin our dinner."
 64

"Our dinner!" thought the wretched Brahman, 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 Brahman 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 its 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 Brahman, 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 Brahman--"

"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!"

 65

"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!"
 66

THE SOOTHSAYER'S SON

A SOOTHSAYER when on his deathbed wrote out the horoscope of his

second son, whose name was Gangazara, and bequeathed it to him as his
only property, leaving the whole of his estate to his eldest son. The second
son thought over the horoscope, and said to himself:

"Alas! am I born to this only in the world? The sayings of my father never
failed. I have seen them prove true to the last word while he was living; and
how has he fixed my horoscope! 'From my birth, poverty!' Nor is that my
only fate. 'For ten years, imprisonment '--a fate harder than poverty; and
what comes next? 'Death on the seashore'; which means that I must die
away from home, far from friends and relatives on a sea-coast. Now comes
the most curious part of the horoscope, that I am to 'have some happiness
afterwards!' What this happiness is, is an enigma to me."

Thus thought he, and after all the funeral obsequies of his father were over,
took leave of his elder brother, and started for Benares. He went by the
middle of the Deccan avoiding both the coasts, and went on journeying and
journeying for weeks and months, till at last be reached the Vindhya
mountains. While passing that desert he had to journey for a couple of days
through a sandy plain, with no signs of life or vegetation. The little store of
provision with which he was provided for a couple of days, at last was
exhausted. The chombu, which he carried always full, filling it with the
sweet water from the flowing rivulet or plenteous tank, he had exhausted in
the heat of the desert. There was not a morsel in his hand to eat; nor a drop
of water to think.

Turn his eyes wherever he might he found a vast desert, out of which he saw
no means of escape. Still he thought within himself, "Surely my father's
prophecy never proved untrue. I must survive this calamity to find my death
on some sea-coast." So thought be, and this thought gave him strength of
mind to walk fast and try to find a drop of water somewhere to slake his dry
throat.
 67

At last he succeeded; heaven threw in his way a ruined well. He thought he

could collect some water if he let down his chombu with the string that he
 68

always carried noosed to the neck of it. Accordingly he let it down; it went
some way and stopped, and the following words came from the well: "Oh,
relieve me! I am the king of tigers, dying here of hunger. For the last three
days I have had nothing. Fortune has sent you here. If you assist me now
you will find a sure help in me throughout your life. Do not think that I am a
beast of prey. When you have become my deliverer I will never touch you.
Pray, kindly lift me up."

Gangazara thought: "Shall I take him out or not? If I take him out he may
make me the first morsel of his hungry mouth. No; that be will not do. For
my father's prophecy never came untrue. I must die on a sea-coast, and not
by a tiger." Thus thinking, he asked the tiger-king to hold tight to the vessel,
which he accordingly did, and he lifted him up slowly. The tiger reached the
top of the well and felt himself' on safe ground. True to his word, he did no
harm to Gangazara. On the other hand, he walked round his patron three
times, and standing before him, humbly spoke the following words:

"My life-giver, my benefactor! I shall never forget this day, when I regained
my life through your kind hands. In return for this kind assistance I pledge
my oath to stand by you in all calamities. Whenever you are in any difficulty
just think of me. I am there with you ready to oblige you by all the means
that I can. To tell you briefly how I came in here: Three days ago I was
roaming in yonder forest, when I saw a goldsmith passing through it. I
chased him. He, finding it impossible to escape my claws, jumped into this
well, and is living to this moment in the very bottom of it. I also jumped in,
but found myself on the first ledge of the well; he is on the last and fourth
ledge. In the second lives a serpent half-famished with hunger. On the third
lies a rat, also half-famished, and when you again begin to draw water these
may request you first to release them. In the same way the goldsmith also
may ask you. I beg you, as your bosom friend, never assist that wretched
man, though he is your relation as a human being. Goldsmiths are never to
be trusted. You can place more faith in me, a tiger, though I feast sometimes
upon men, in a serpent, whose sting makes your blood cold the very next
moment, or in a rat, which does a thousand pieces of mischief in your house.
But never trust a goldsmith. Do not release him; and if you do, you shall
 69

surely repent of it one day or other." Thus advising, the hungry tiger went
away without waiting for an answer.

Gangazara thought several times of the eloquent way in which the tiger
spoke, and admired his fluency of speech. But still his thirst was not
quenched. So he let down his vessel again, which was now caught hold of by
the serpent, who addressed him thus: "Oh, my protector! Lift me up. I am
the king of serpents, and the son of Adisesha, who is now pining away in
agony for my disappearance. 'Release me now. I shall ever remain your
servant, remember your assistance, and help you throughout life in all
possible ways. Oblige me: I am dying." Gangazara, calling again to mind the
"death on the sea-shore" of the prophecy lifted him up. He, like the tiger-
king, walked round him thrice, and prostrating himself before him spoke
thus: "Oh, my life - giver, my father, for so I must call you, as you have given
me another birth. I was three days ago basking myself in the morning sun,
when I saw a rat running before me. I chased him. He fell into this well. I
followed him, but instead of falling on the third storey where he is now
lying, I fell into the second. I am going away now to see my father.
Whenever you are in any difficulty just think of me. I will be there by your
side to assist you by all possible means." So saying, the Nagaraja glided away
in zigzag movements, and was out of sight in a moment.

The poor son of the Soothsayer, who was now almost dying of thirst, let
down his vessel for a third time. The rat caught hold of it, and without
discussing he lifted up the poor animal at once. But it would not go away
without showing its gratitude: "Oh, life of my life! My benefactor! I am the
king of rats. Whenever you are in any calamity just think of me. I will come to
you, and assist you. My keen ears overheard all that the tiger-king told you
about the goldsmith, who is in the fourth storey. It is nothing but a sad truth
that goldsmiths ought never to be trusted. Therefore, never assist him as
you have done to us all. And if you do, you will suffer for it. I am hungry; let
me go for the present." Thus taking leave of his benefactor, the rat, too, ran
away.

Gangazara for a while thought upon the repeated advice given by the three
animals about releasing the goldsmith: "What wrong would there be in my
assisting him? Why should I not release him also?" So thinking to himself,
 70

Gangazara let down the vessel again. The goldsmith caught hold of it, and
demanded help. 'the Soothsayer's son had no time to lose; he was himself
dying of thirst. Therefore he lifted the goldsmith up, who now began his
story. "Stop for a while," said Gangazara, and after quenching his thirst by
letting down his vessel for the fifth time, still fearing that some one might
remain in the well and demand his assistance, he listened to the goldsmith,
who began as follows: "My dear friend, my protector, what a deal of
nonsense these brutes have been talking to you about me; I am glad you
have not followed their advice. I am just now dying of hunger. Permit me to
go away. My name is Manikkasari. I live in the East main street of Ujjaini,
which is twenty kas to the south of this place, and so lies on your way when
you return from Benares. Do not forget to come to me and receive my kind
remembrances of your assistance, on your way back to your country." So
saying, the goldsmith took his leave, and Gangazara also pursued his way
north after the above adventures.

He reached Benares, and lived there for more than ten years, and quite
forgot the tiger, serpent, rat, and goldsmith. After ten years of religious life,
thoughts of home and of his brother rushed into his mind. "I have secured
enough merit now by my religious observances. Let me return home." Thus
thought Gangazara within himself, and very soon he was on his way back to
his country. Remembering the prophecy of his father he returned by the
same way by which he went to Benares ten years before. While thus
retracing his steps he reached the ruined well where he had released the
three brute kings and the goldsmith. At once the old recollections rushed
into his mind, and he thought of the tiger to test his fidelity. Only a moment
passed, and the tiger-king came running before him carrying a large crown
in his mouth, the glitter of the diamonds of which for a time outshone even
the bright rays of the sun. He dropped the crown at his life-giver's feet, and,
putting aside all his pride, humbled himself like a pet cat to the strokes of his
protector, and began in the following words: "My life-giver! How is it that
you have forgotten me, your poor servant, for such a long time? I am glad to
find that I still occupy a corner in your mind. I can never forget the day when
I owed my life to your lotus hands. I have several jewels with me of little
value. This crown, being the best of all, I have brought here as a single
ornament of great value, which you can carry with you and dispose of in
 71

your own country." Gangazara looked at the crown, examined it over and
over, counted and recounted the gems, and thought within himself that he
would become the richest of men by separating the diamonds and gold, and
selling them in his own country. He took leave of the tiger-king, and after his
disappearance thought of the kings of serpents and rats, who came in their
turn with their presents, and after the usual greetings and exchange of
words took their leave. Gangazara was extremely delighted at the
faithfulness with which the brute beasts behaved, and went on his way to
the south. While going along he spoke to himself thus: "These beasts have
been very faithful in their assistance. Much more, therefore, must
Manikkasari be faithful. I do not want anything from him now. If I take this
crown with me as it is, it occupies much space in my bundle. It may also
excite the curiosity of some robbers on the way. I will go now to Ujjaini on
my way. Manikkasari requested me to see him without failure on my return
journey. I shall do so, and request him to have the crown melted, the
diamonds and gold separated. He must do that kindness at least for me. I
shall then roll up these diamonds and gold ball in my rags, and wend my way
homewards." Thus thinking and thinking, he reached UJjjaini. At once he
inquired for the house of his goldsmith friend, and found him without
difficulty. Manikkasari was extremely delighted to find on his threshold him
who ten years before, notwithstanding the advice repeatedly given him by
the sage-looking tiger, serpent, and rat, had relieved him from the pit of
death. Gangazara at once showed him the crown that he received from the
tiger-king; told him how he got it, and requested his kind assistance to
separate the gold and diamonds. Manikkasari agreed to do so, and
meanwhile asked his friend to rest himself for a while to have his bath and
meals; and Gangazara, who was very observant of his religious ceremonies,
went direct to the river to bathe.

How came the crown in the jaws of the tiger? The king of Ujjaini had a week
before gone with all his hunters on a hunting expedition. All of a sudden the
tiger-king started from the wood, seized the king, and vanished.

When the king's attendants informed the prince about the death of his
father he wept and wailed, and gave notice that he would give half of his
kingdom to any one who should bring him news about the murderer of his
 72

father. The goldsmith knew full well that it was a tiger that killed the king,
and not any hunter's hands, since he had heard from Gangazara how he
obtained the crown. Still, he resolved to denounce Gangazara as the king's
murderer, so, hiding the crown under his garments, he flew to the palace.
He went before the prince and informed him that the assassin was caught,
and placed the crown before him. The prince took it into his hands,
examined it, and at once gave half the kingdom to Manikkasari, and then
inquired about the murderer. "He is bathing in the river, and is of such and
such appearance," was the reply. At once four armed soldiers flew to the
river, and bound the poor Brahman hand and foot, while he, sitting in
meditation, was without any knowledge of the fate that hung over him.
They brought Gangazara to the presence of the prince, who turned his face
away, from the supposed murderer, and asked his soldiers to throw him into
a dungeon. In a minute, without knowing the cause, the poor Brahman
found himself in the dark dungeon.

It was a dark cellar underground, built with strong stone walls, into which
any criminal guilty of a capital offence was ushered to breathe his last there
without food and drink. Such was the cellar into which Gangazara was
thrust. What were his thoughts when he reached that plate? "It is of, no use
to accuse either the goldsmith or the prince now, We are all the children of
fate. We must obey her commands. This is but the first day of my father's
prophecy, So far his statement is true. But how am I going to pass ten years
here? Perhaps without anything to sustain life I may drag on my existence
for a day or two. But how pass ten years? That cannot be, and I must die.
Before death comes let me think of my faithful brute friends."

So pondered Gangazara in the dark cell underground, and at that moment

thought of his three friends. The tiger-king, serpent-king, and rat-king
assembled at once with their armies at a garden near the dungeon, and for a
while did not know what to do. They held their council, and decided to make
an underground passage from the inside of a ruined well to the dungeon.
The rat raja issued an order at once to that effect to his army. They, with
their teeth, bored the ground a long way to the walls of the prison. After
reaching it they found that their teeth could not work on the hard stones.
The bandicoots were then specially ordered 'for the business; they, with
 73

their hard teeth, made a small slit in the wall for a rat to pass and repass
without difficulty. Thus a passage was effected.

The rat raja entered first to condole with his protector on his misfortune,
and undertook to supply his protector with provisions. "Whatever
sweetmeats or bread are prepared in any house, one and all of you must try
to bring whatever you can to our benefactor. Whatever clothes you find
hanging in a house, cut down, dip the pieces in water, and bring the wet bits
to our benefactor. He will squeeze them and gather water for drink! and the
bread and sweetmeats shall form his food." Having issued these orders, the
king of the rats took leave of Gangazara. They, in obedience to their king's
order, continued to supply him with provisions and water.

The snake-king said: "I sincerely condole with you in your calamity; the tiger-
king also fully sympathises with you, and wants me to tell you so, as he
cannot drag his huge body here as we have done with our small ones. The
king of the rats has promised to do his best to provide you with food. We
would now do what we can for your release. From this day we shall issue
orders to our armies to oppress all the subjects of this kingdom. The deaths
by snake-bite and tigers shall increase a hundredfold from this day, and day
by day it shall continue to increase till your release. Whenever you hear
people near you, you had better bawl out so as to be heard by them: 'The
wretched prince imprisoned me on the false charge of having killed his
father, while it was a tiger that killed him. From that day these calamities
have broken out in his dominions. If I were released I would save all by my
powers of healing poisonous wounds and by incantations.' Some one may
report this to the king, and if he knows it, you will obtain your liberty." Thus
comforting his protector in trouble, he advised him to pluck up courage, and
took leave of him. From that day tigers and serpents, acting under the
orders of their kings, united in killing as many persons and cattle as possible.
Every day people were carried away by tigers or bitten by serpents. Thus
passed months and years. Gangazara sat in the dark cellar, without the sun's
light falling upon him, and feasted upon the breadcrumbs and sweetmeats
that the rats so kindly supplied him with. These delicacies had completely
changed his body into a red, stout, huge, unwieldy mass of flesh. Thus
passed full ten years, as prophesied in the horoscope.
 74

Ten complete years rolled away in close imprisonment. On the last evening
of the tenth year one of the serpents got into the bed-chamber of the
princess and sucked her life. She breathed her last. She was the only
daughter of the king. The king at once sent for all the snake-bite curers. He
promised half his kingdom and his daughter's hand to him who would
restore her to life. Now a servant of the king who had several times
overheard Gangazara's cries, reported the matter to him, The king at once
ordered the cell to be examined. There was the man sitting in it. How had he
managed to live so long in the cell? Some whispered that he must be a divine
being. Thus they discussed, while they brought Gangazara to the king.

The king no sooner saw Gangazara than he fell on the ground. He was struck
by the majesty and grandeur of his person. His ten years' imprisonment in
the deep cell underground had given a sort of lustre to his body. His hair had
first to be cut before his face could be seen. The king begged forgiveness for
his former fault, and requested him to revive his daughter.

"Bring me within an hour all the corpses of men and cattle, dying and dead,
that remain unburnt or unburied within the range of your dominions; I shall
revive them all," were the only words that Gangazara spoke.

Cartloads of corpses of men and cattle began to come in every minute. Even
graves, it is said, were broken open, and corpses buried a day or two before
were taken out and sent for their revival. As soon as all were ready,
Gangazara took a vessel full of water and sprinkled it over them all, thinking
only of his snake-king and tiger-king. All rose up as if from deep slumber, and
went to their respective homes. The princess, too, was restored to life. The
joy of the king knew no bounds. He cursed the day on which he imprisoned
him, blamed himself for having believed the 'word of a goldsmith, and
offered him the hand of his daughter and the whole kingdom, instead of
half, as he promised. Gangazara would not accept anything, but asked the
king to assemble all his subjects in a wood near the town, "I shall there call
in all the tigers And serpents, and give them a general order."

When the whole town was assembled, just at the dusk of evening,
Gangazara sat dumb for a moment, and thought upon the Tiger King and
the Serpent King, who came with all their armies. People began to take to
 75

their heels at the sight of tigers. Gangazara assured them of safety, and
stopped them.

The grey light of the evening, the pumpkin colour of Gangazara, the holy
ashes scattered lavishly over his body, the tigers and, snakes humbling
themselves at his feet, gave him the true majesty of the god Gangazara. For
who else by a single word could thus command vast armies of tigers and
serpents, said some among the people. "Care not for it; it may be by magic.
That is not a great thing: That he revived cartloads of corpses shows him to
be surely Gangazara," said others.

"Why should you, my children, thus trouble these poor subjects of Ujjaini?
Reply to me, and henceforth desist from your ravages." Thus said the
Soothsayer's son, and, the following reply came from the king of the tigers:
"Why should this base king imprison your honour, believing the mere word
of a goldsmith that your honour killed his father? All the hunters told him
that his father was carried away by a tiger. I was the messenger of death
sent to deal the blow on his neck. I did it, and gave the crown to your
honour. The prince makes no inquiry, and at once imprisons your honour.
How can we expect justice from such a stupid king as that? Unless he adopt
a better standard of justice we will go on with our destruction."

The king heard, cursed the day on which he believed in the word of a
goldsmith, beat his head, tore his hair, wept and wailed for his crime, asked
a thousand pardons, and swore to rule in a just way from that day. The
serpent-king and tiger-king also promised to observe their oath as long as
justice prevailed, and took their leave. The goldsmith fled for his life. He was
caught by the soldiers of the king, and was pardoned by the generous
Gangazara, whose voice now reigned supreme. All returned to their homes.

The king again pressed Gangazara to accept the hand of his daughter. He
agreed to do so, not then, but some time afterwards. He wished to go and
see his elder brother first, and then to return and marry the princess. The
king agreed; and Gangazara left the city that very day on his way home.

It so happened that unwittingly be took a wrong road, and had to pass near
a sea-coast. His elder, brother was also on his way up to Benares by that
very same route. They met and recognised each other, even at a distance.
 76

They flew into each other's arms. Both remained still for a time almost
unconscious with joy. The pleasure of Gangazara was so great that he died
of joy.

The elder brother was a devout worshipper of Ganesa. That was a Friday, a
day very sacred to that god. The elder brother took the corpse to the
nearest Ganesa temple and called upon him. The god came, and asked him
what he wanted. "My poor brother is dead and gone; and this is his corpse.
Kindly keep it in your charge till I finish worshipping you. If I leave it
anywhere else the devils may snatch it, away when I am absent worshipping
you; after finishing the rites I shall burn him." Thus said the elder brother,
 77

and, giving the corpse to the god Ganesa, he went to prepare himself for
that deity's ceremonials. Ganesa made over the corpse to his Ganas, asking
them to watch over it carefully. But instead of that they devoured it.

The elder brother, after finishing the puja, demanded his brother's corpse of
the god. The god called his Ganas, who came to the front blinking, and
fearing the anger of their master. The god was greatly enraged. The elder
brother was very angry. When the corpse was not forthcoming he cuttingly
remarked, "Is this, after all, the return for my deep belief in you? You are
unable even to return my brother's corpse." Ganesa was much ashamed at
the remark. So he, by his divine power, gave him a living Gangazara instead
of the dead corpse. Thus was the second son of the Soothsayer restored to
life.

The brothers had a long talk about each other's adventures. They both went
to Ujjaini, where Ganganra married the princess, and succeeded to the
throne of that kingdom. He reigned for a long time, conferring several
benefits upon his brother. And so the horoscope was fully fulfilled.
 78

HARISARMAN

THERE was a certain Brahman in a certain village, named Harisarman. He was

poor and foolish and in evil case for want of employment, and he had very
many children, that he might reap the fruit of his misdeeds in a former life.

He wandered about begging with his family, and at last he reached a certain
city, and entered the service of a rich householder called Sthuladatta. His
sons became keepers of Sthuladatta's cows and other property, and his wife
a servant to him, and he himself lived near his house, performing the duty of
an attendant. One day there was a feast on account of the marriage of the
daughter of Sthuladatta, largely attended by many friends of the
bridegroom, and merry-makers. Harisarman hoped that he would be able to
fill himself up to the throat with ghee and flesh and other dainties, and get
the same for his family, in the house of his patron. While he was anxiously
expecting to be fed, no one thought of him.
 79

Then he was distressed at getting nothing to eat, and he said to his wife at
night, "It is owing to my poverty and stupidity that I am treated with such
disrespect here; so I will pretend by means of an artifice to possess a
knowledge of magic, so that I may become an object of respect to this
Sthuladatta; so, when you get an opportunity, tell him that I possess magical
knowledge." He said this to her, and after turning the matter over in his
mind, while people were asleep he took away from the house of Sthuladatta
a horse on which his master's son-in-law rode. He placed it in concealment at
some distance, and in the morning the friends of the bridegroom could not
find the horse, though they searched in every direction. Then, while
Sthuladatta was distressed at the evil omen, and searching, for the thieves
who had carried off the horse, the wife of Harisarman came and said to him,
"My husband is a wise man, skilled in astrology and magical sciences; he can
get the horse back for you; why do you not ask him?" When Sthuladatta
heard that, he called Harisarman, who said, "Yesterday I was forgotten, but
to-day, now the horse is stolen, I am called to mind," and Sthuladatta then
propitiated the Brahman with these words--" I forgot you, forgive me "--and
asked him to tell him who had taken away their horse. Then Harisarman
drew all kinds of pretended diagrams, and said: "The horse has been placed
by thieves on the boundary line south from this place. It is concealed there,
and before it is carried off to a distance, as it will be at close of day, go
quickly and bring it." When they heard that, many men ran and brought the
horse quickly, praising the discernment of Harisarman. Then Harisarman was
honoured by all men as a sage, and dwelt there in happiness, honoured by
Sthuladatta.

Now, as days went on, much treasure, both of gold and jewels, had been
stolen by a thief from the palace of the king. As the thief was not known,
the king quickly summoned Harisarman on account of his reputation for
knowledge of magic. And he, when summoned, tried to gain time, and said,
"I will tell you to-morrow," and then he was placed in a chamber by the king,
and carefully guarded. And he was sad because he had pretended to have
knowledge. Now in that palace there was a maid named Jihva (which means
Tongue), who, with the assistance of her brother, had stolen that treasure
 80

from the interior of the palace. She, being alarmed at Harisarman's

knowledge, went at night and applied her ear to the door of that chamber in
order to find out what he was about. And Harisarman, who was alone inside,
was at that very moment blaming his own tongue, that had made a vain
assumption of knowledge. He said: "O Tongue, what is this that you have
done through your greediness? Wicked one, you will soon receive
punishment in full." When Jihva heard this, she thought, in her terror, that
she had been discovered by this wise man, and she managed to get in where
he was, and falling at his feet, she said to the supposed wizard:

"Brahman, here I am, that Jihva whom you have discovered to be the thief
of the treasure, and after I took it I buried it in the earth in a garden behind
the palace, under a pomegranate tree. So spare me, and receive the small
quantity of gold which is in my possession."

When Harisarman heard that, he said to her proudly:

"Depart, I know all this; I know the past, present and future; but I will not
denounce you, being a miserable creature that has implored my protection.
But whatever gold is in your possession you must give back to me." When
he said this to the maid, she consented, and departed quickly. But
Harisarman reflected in his astonishment: "Fate brings about, as if in sport,
things impossible, for when calamity was so near, who would have thought
chance would have brought us success? While I was blaming my jihva, the
thief Jihva suddenly flung herself at my feet. Secret crimes manifest
themselves by means of fear." Thus thinking, he passed the night happily in
the chamber. And in the morning he brought the king, by some skilful
parade of pretended knowledge into the garden, and led him up to the
treasure, which was buried under the pomegranate free, and said that the
thief had escaped with a part of it. Then the king was pleased, and gave him
the revenue of many villages.

But the minister, named Devajnanin, whispered in the king's ear: "How can a
man possess such knowledge unattainable by men, without having studied
the books of magic; you may be certain that this is a specimen of the way he
makes a dishonest livelihood, by having a secret intelligence with thieves. It
will be much better to test him by some new artifice." Then the king of his
 81

own accord brought a covered pitcher into which he had thrown a frog, and
said to Harisarman, "Brahman, if you can guess what there is in this pitcher, I
will do you great honour to-day." When the Brahman Harisarman heard that,
he thought that his last hour had come, and he called to mind the pet name
of "Froggie" which his father had given him in his childhood in sport, and,
impelled by luck, he called to himself by his pet name, lamenting his hard
fate, and suddenly called out: "This is a fine pitcher for you, Froggie; it will
soon become the swift destroyer of your helpless self." The people there,
when they heard him say that, raised a shout of applause, because his
speech chimed in so well with the object presented to him, and murmured,
"Ah! a great sage, be knows even about the frog!" Then the king, thinking
that this was all due to knowledge of divination, was highly delighted, and
gave Harisarman the revenue of more villages, with gold, an umbrella, and
state carriages of all kinds. So Harisarman prospered in the world.
 82

THE CHARMED RING

A MERCHANT started his son in life with three hundred rupees, and bade
him go to another country and try his luck in trade. The son took the money
and departed. He had not gone far before he came across some herdsmen
quarrelling over a dog, that some of them wished to kill. "Please do not kill
the dog," pleaded the young and tender-hearted fellow; "I will give you one
hundred rupees for it." Then and there, of course, the bargain was
concluded, and the foolish fellow took the dog, and continued his journey.
He next met with some people fighting about a cat. Some of them wanted
to kill it, but others not. "Oh! please do not kill it," said he; "I will give you
one hundred rupees for it." Of course they at once gave him the cat and
took the money. He went on till he reached a village, where some folk were
quarrelling over a snake that had just been caught. Some of them wished to
kill it, but others did not. "Please do not kill the snake," said he; "I will give
you one hundred rupees." Of course the people agreed, and were highly
delighted.

What a fool the fellow was! What would he do now that all his money was
gone? What could he do except return to his father? Accordingly he went
home.

"You fool! You scamp!" exclaimed his father when he had heard how his son
had wasted all the money that had been given to him. "Go and live in the
stables and repent of your folly. You shall never again enter my house."

So the young man went and lived in the stables His bed was the grass
spread for the cattle, and his companions were the dog, the cat, and the
snake, which he had purchased so dearly. These creatures got very fond of
him, and would follow him about during the day, and sleep by him at night;
the cat used to sleep at his feet, the dog at his head, and the snake over his
body, with its head hanging on one side and its tail on the other.

One day the snake in course of conversation said to its master, "I am the son
of Raja Indrasha. One day, when I had come out of the ground to drink the
 83

air, some people seized me, and would have slain me had you not most
opportunely arrived to my rescue. I do not know how I shall ever be able to
repay you for your great kindness to me. Would that you knew my father!
How glad he would be to see his son's preserver!"

"Where does he live? I should like to see him, if possible," said the young
man.

"Well said!" continued the snake. "Do you see yonder mountain? At the
bottom of that mountain there is a sacred spring. If you will come with me
and dive into that spring, we shall both reach my father's country. Oh! how
glad he will be to see you! He will wish to reward you, too. But how can be
do that? However, you may be pleased to accept something at his hand. If
he asks you what you would like, you would, perhaps, do well to reply, 'The
ring on your right hand, and the famous pot and spoon which you possess.'
With these in your possession, you would never need anything, for the ring
is such that a man has only to speak to it, and immediately a beautiful
furnished mansion will be provided for him, while the pot and the spoon will
supply him with all manner of the rarest and most delicious foods."

Attended by his three companions the man walked to the well and prepared
to jump in, according to the snake's directions. "O master!" exclaimed the
cat and dog, when they saw what he was going to do. "What shall we do?
Where shall we go?"

"Wait for me here," he replied. "I am not going far. I shall not be long away."
On saying this, he dived into the water and was lost to sight.

"Now what shall we do?" said the dog to the cat.

"We must remain here," replied the cat, "as our master ordered. Do not be
anxious about food. I will go to the people's houses and get plenty of food
for both of us." And so the cat did, and they both lived very comfortably till
their master came again and joined them.

The young man and the snake reached their destination in safety; and
information of their arrival was sent to the Raja. His highness commanded
his son and the stranger to appear before him. But the snake refused, saying
that it could not go to its father till it was released from this stranger, who
 84

had saved it from a most terrible death, and whose slave it therefore was.
Then the Raja went and embraced his son, and saluting the stranger
welcomed him to his dominions. The young man stayed there a few days,
during which he received the Raja's right-hand ring, and the pot and spoon,
in recognition of His Highness's gratitude to him for having delivered his
son. He then returned. On reaching the top of the spring he found his
friends, the dog and the cat, waiting for him. They told one another all they
had experienced since they had last seen each other, and were all very glad.
Afterwards they walked together to the river side, where it was decided to
try the powers of the charmed ring and pot and spoon.

The merchant's son spoke to the ring, and immediately a beautiful house
and a lovely princess with golden hair appeared. He spoke to the pot and
spoon, also, and the most delicious dishes of food were provided for them.
So he married the princess, and they lived very happily for several years,
until one morning the princess, while arranging her toilet, put the loose hairs
into a hollow bit of reed and threw them into the river that flowed along
under the window. The reed floated on the water for many miles, and was
at last picked up by the prince of that country, who curiously opened it and
saw the golden hair. On finding it the prince rushed off to the palace, locked
himself up in his room, and would not leave it. He had fallen desperately in
love with the woman whose hair be had picked up, and refused to eat, or
drink, or sleep, or move, till she was brought to him. The king, his father,
was in great distress about the matter, and did not know what to do. He
feared lest his son should die and leave him without an heir: At last he
determined to seek the counsel of his aunt, who was an ogress. The old
woman consented to help him, and bade him not to be anxious, as she felt
certain that she would succeed in getting the beautiful woman for his son's
wife.

She assumed the shape of a bee and went along buzzing, and buzzing, and
buzzing. Her keen sense of smell soon brought her to the beautiful princess,
to whom she appeared as an old hag, holding in one hand a stick by way of
support. She introduced herself to the beautiful princess and said, "I am
your aunt, whom you have never seen before, because I left the country just
after your birth." She also embraced and kissed the princess by way of
 85

adding force to her words. The beautiful princess was thoroughly deceived.
She returned the ogress's embrace, and invited her to come and stay in the
house as long as she could, and treated her with such honour and attention,
that the ogress thought to herself, "I shall soon accomplish my errand."
When she had been in the house three days, she began to talk of the
charmed ring, and advised her to keep it instead of her husband, because
the latter was constantly out shooting and on other such-like expeditions,
and might lose it. Accordingly the beautiful princess asked her husband for
the ring, and he readily gave it to her.

The ogress waited another day before she asked to see the precious thing.
Doubting nothing, the beautiful princess complied, when the ogress seized
the ring, and reassuming the form of a bee flew away with it to the palace,
where the prince was lying nearly on the point of death. "Rise up. Be glad.
Mourn no more," she said to him. "The woman for whom you yearn will
appear at your summons. See, here is the charm, whereby you may bring
her before you." The prince was almost mad with joy when he heard these
words, and was so desirous of seeing the beautiful princess, that he
immediately spoke to the ring, and the house with its fair occupant
descended in the midst of the palace garden. He at once entered the
building, and telling the beautiful princess of his intense love, entreated her
to be his wife. Seeing no escape from the difficulty, she consented on the
condition that he would wait one month for her.

Meanwhile the merchant's son had returned from hunting and was terribly
distressed not to find his house and wife. There was the place only, just as
he knew it before he had tried the charmed ring, which Raja Indrasha had
given him. He sat down and determined to put an end to himself. Presently
the cat and dog came up. They had gone away and hidden themselves,
when they saw the house and everything disappear. "O master!?' they said,
"stay your hand. Your trial is great, but it can be remedied. Give us one
month, and we will go and try to recover your wife and house."

"Go," said he, "and may the great God aid your efforts. Bring back my wife,
and I shall live."
 86

So the cat and dog started off at a run, and did not stop till they reached the
place whither their mistress and the house had been taken. "We may have
some difficulty here," said the cat. "Look, the king has taken our master's
wife and house for himself. You stay here. I will go to the house and try to
see her." So the dog sat down, and the cat climbed up to the window of the
room, wherein the beautiful princess was sitting, and entered. The princess
 87

recognised the cat, and informed it of all that had happened to her since she
had left them.

"But is there no way of escape from the hands of these people?" she asked.

"Yes," replied the cat, "if you can tell me where the charmed ring is."

"The ring is in the stomach of the ogress," she said.

"All right," said the cat, "I will recover it. If we once get it, everything is
ours." Then the cat descended the wall of the house, and went and laid
down by a rat's hole and pretended she was dead. Now at that time a great
wedding chanced to be going on among the rat community of that place,
and all the rats of the neighbourhood were assembled in that one particular
mine by which the cat had lain down. The eldest son of the king of the rats
was about to be married. The cat got to know of this, and at once conceived
the idea of seizing the bridegroom and making him render the necessary
help. Consequently, when the procession poured forth from the hole
squealing and jumping in honour of the occasion, it immediately spotted the
bridegroom and pounced down on him. "Oh! let me go, let me go," cried the
terrified rat. "Oh! let him go," squealed all the company. "It is his wedding
day."

"No, no," replied the cat. "Not unless you do something for me. Listen. The
ogress, who lives in that house with the prince and his wife, has swallowed a
ring, which I very much want. If you will procure it for me, I will allow the rat
to depart unharmed. If you do not, then your prince dies under my feet."

"Very well, we agree," said they all. "Nay, if we do not get the ring for you,
devour us all."

This was rather a bold offer. However, they accomplished the thing. At
midnight, when the ogress was sound asleep, one of the rats went to her
bedside, climbed up on her face, and, inserted its tail into her throat;
whereupon the ogress coughed violently, and the ring came out and rolled
on to the floor. The rat immediately seized the precious thing and ran off
with it to its king, who was very glad, and went at once to the cat and
released its son.
 88

As soon as the cat received the ring, she started back with the dog to go and
tell their master the good tidings. All seemed safe now. They had only to
give the ring to him, and he would speak to it, and the house and beautiful
princess would again be with them, and everything would go on as happily
as before. "How glad master will be!" they thought, and ran as fast as their
legs could carry them. Now, on the way they had to cross a stream. The dog
swam,, and the cat sat on its back. Now the dog was jealous of the cat, so he
asked for the ring, and threatened to throw the cat into the water if it did
not give it up; whereupon the cat gave up the ring. Sorry moment, for the
dog at once dropped it, and a fish swallowed it.

"Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?" said the dog. "What is done is done,"
replied the cat. "We must try to recover it, and if we do not succeed we had
better drown ourselves in this stream. I have a plan. You go and kill a small
lamb, and bring it here to me."

"All right," said the dog, and at once ran off. He soon came back with a dead
lamb, and gave it to the cat. The cat got inside the lamb and lay down,
telling the dog to go away a little distance and keep quiet. Not long after
this a nadhar, a bird whose look can break the bones of a fish, came and
hovered over the lamb, and eventually pounced down on it to carry it away.
On this the cat came out and jumped on to the bird, and threatened to kill it
if it did not recover the lost ring. This was most readily promised by the
nadhar, who immediately flew off to the king of the fishes, and ordered it to
make inquiries and to restore the ring. The king of the fishes did so, and the
ring was found and carried back to the cat.

"Come along now; I have got the ring," said the cat to the dog.

"No, I will not," said the dog, unless you let me have the ring. I can carry it as
well as you. Let me have it or I will kill you." So the cat was obliged to give
up the ring. The careless dog very soon dropped it again. This time it was
picked up and carried off by a kite.

"See, see, there it goes--away to that big tree," the cat exclaimed.

"Oh! oh! what have I done?" cried the dog.

 89

"You foolish thing, I knew it would be so," said the cat. "But stop your
barking, or you will frighten away the bird to some place where we shall not
be able to trace it."

The cat waited till it was quite dark, and then climbed the tree, killed the
kite, and recovered the ring. "Come along," it said to the dog when it
reached the ground. "We must make haste now. We have been delayed. Our
master will die from grief and suspense. Come on."

The dog, now thoroughly ashamed of itself, begged the cat's pardon for all
the trouble it had given. It was afraid to ask for the ring the third time, so
they both reached their sorrowing master in safety and gave him the
precious charm. In a moment his sorrow was turned into joy. He spoke to
the ring, and his beautiful wife and house reappeared, and he and
everybody were as happy as ever they could be.
 90

THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE

THE future Buddha was once born in a minister's family, when Brahma-datta
was reigning in Benares; and when he grew up, he became the king's adviser
in things temporal and spiritual.

Now this king was very talkative; while he was speaking, others had no
opportunity for a word. And the future Buddha, wanting to cure this
talkativeness of his, was constantly seeking for some means of doing so.

At that time there was living, in a pond in the Himalaya mountains, a

tortoise. Two young hamsas, or wild ducks, who came to feed there, made
friends with him. And one day, when they had become very intimate with
him, they said to the tortoise:

"Friend tortoise! the place where we live, at the Golden Cave on Mount
Beautiful in the Himalaya country, is a delightful spot. Will you come there
with us?"

"But how can I get there?"

"We can take you, if you can only hold your tongue, and will say nothing to
anybody."

"Oh! that I can do. Take me with you."

"That's right," said they. And making the tortoise bite hold of a stick, they
themselves took the two ends in their teeth, and flew up into the air.

Seeing him thus carried by the hamsas, some villagers called out, "Two wild
ducks are carrying a tortoise along on a stick!" Whereupon the tortoise
wanted to say, "If my friends choose to carry me, what is that to you, you
wretched slaves!" So just as the swift flight of the wild ducks had brought
him over the king's palace in the city of Benares, he let go of the stick he
was biting, and falling in the open courtyard, split in two! And there arose a
universal cry, "A tortoise has fallen in the open courtyard, and has split in
two!"
 91

The king, taking the future Buddha, went to the place, surrounded by his
courtiers; and looking at the tortoise, he asked the Bodisat, "Teacher! how
comes he to be fallen here?"

The future Buddha thought to himself, "Long expecting, wishing to

admonish the king, have I sought for some means of doing so. This tortoise
must have made friends with the wild ducks; and they must have made him
bite hold of the stick, and have flown up into the air to take him to the hills.
But he, being unable to hold his tongue. when he hears any one else talk,
must have wanted to say something; and let go the stick; and so must have
fallen down from the sky, and thus lost his life." And saying, "Truly, O king!
those who are called chatter-boxes--people whose words have no end--
come to grief like this," he uttered these Verses:

"Verily the tortoise killed himself

Whilst uttering his voice;
Though he was holding tight the stick,
By a word himself he slew.

"Behold him then,

O excellent by strength!
And speak wise words, not out of season.
You see how, by his talking overmuch,
The tortoise fell into this wretched plight!"
 92

The king saw that he was himself referred to, and said "O Teacher! are you
speaking of us?"

And the Bodisat spake openly, and said, "O great king! be it thou, or be it
any other, whoever talks beyond measure meets with some mishap like
this."

And the king henceforth refrained himself, and became a man of few words.
 93

A LAC OF RUPEES FOR A BIT OF ADVICE

A POOR blind Brahman and his wife were dependent on their son for their
subsistence. Every day the young fellow used to go out and get what he
could by begging. This continued for some time, till at last he became quite
tired of such a wretched life, and determined to go and try his luck in
another country. He informed his wife of his intention, and ordered her to
manage somehow or other for the old people during the few months that
he would be absent. He begged her to be industrious, lest his parents should
be angry and curse him.

One morning he started with some food in a bundle, and walked on day
after day, till he reached the chief city of the neighbouring country. Here he
went and sat down by a merchant's shop and asked alms. The merchant
inquired whence he had come, why he had come, and what was his caste; to
which he replied that he was a Brahman, and was wandering hither and
thither begging a livelihood for himself and wife and parents. Moved with
pity for the man, the merchant advised him to visit the kind and generous
king of that country, and offered to accompany him to the court. Now, at
that time it happened that the king was seeking for a Brahman to look after
a golden temple which he had just had built. His Majesty was very glad,
therefore, when he saw the Brahman and heard that he was good and
honest. He at once deputed him to the charge of this temple, and ordered
fifty kharwars of rice and one hundred rupees to be paid to him every year
as wages.

Two months after this, the Brahman's wife, not having heard any news of
her husband, left the house and went in quest of him. By a happy fate she
arrived at the very place that he had reached, where she heard that every
morning at the golden temple a golden rupee was given in the king's name
to any beggar who chose to go for it. Accordingly, on the following morning
she went to the place and met her husband.
 94

"Why have you come here?" he asked. "Why have you left my parents? Care
you not whether they curse me and I die? Go back immediately, and await
my return."

"No, no," said the woman. "I cannot go back to starve and see your old
father and mother die. There is not a grain of rice left in the house."

"O Bhagawant!" exclaimed the Brahman. "Here, take this," he continued,

scribbling a few lines on some paper, and then handing it to her, "and give it
to the king. You will see that he will give you a lac of rupees for it." Thus
saying he dismissed her, and the woman left.

On this scrap of paper were written three pieces of advice - First, If a person
is travelling and reaches any strange place at night, let him be careful where
he puts up, and not close his eyes in sleep, lest he close them in death.
Secondly, If a man has a married sister, and visits her in great pomp, she will
receive him for the sake of what she can obtain from him; but if he comes to
her in poverty, she will frown on him and disown him. Thirdly, If a man has
to do any work, he must do it himself, and do it with might and without fear.
 95

On reaching her home the Brahmani told her parents of her meeting with
her husband, and what a valuable piece of paper he had given her; but not
liking to go before the king herself, she sent one of her relations. The king
read the paper, and ordering the man to be flogged, dismissed him. The
next morning the Brahmani took the paper, and while she was going along
the road to the darbar reading it, the king's son met her, and asked what she
was reading, whereupon she replied that she held in her hands a paper
containing certain bits of advice, for which she wanted a lac of rupees. The
prince asked her to show it to him, and when he had read it gave her a
parwana for the amount, and rode on. The poor Brahmani was very
thankful. That day she laid in a great store of provisions, sufficient to last
them all for a long time.

In the evening the prince related to his father the meeting with the woman,
and the purchase of the piece of paper. He thought his father would
applaud the act. But it was not so. The king was more angry than before,
and banished his son from the country. So the prince bade adieu to his
mother and relations and friends, and rode off on his horse, whither he did
not know. At nightfall he arrived at some place, where a man met him, and
invited him to lodge at his house. The prince accepted the invitation, and
was treated like a prince. Matting was spread for him to squat on, 'and the
best provisions set before him.

"Ah!" thought he, as he lay down to rest, "here is a case for the first piece of
advice that the Brahmani gave me. I will not sleep to-night."

It was well that he thus resolved, for in the middle of the night the man rose
up, and taking a sword in his hand, rushed to the prince with the intention of
killing him. But he rose up and spoke.

"Do not slay me," he said. "What profit would you get from my death? If you
killed me you would be sorry afterwards, like that man who killed his dog."

"What man? What dog?" he asked.

"I will tell you," said the prince, "if you will give me that sword."

So he gave him the sword, and the prince began his story:
 96

"Once upon a time there lived a wealthy merchant who had a pet dog. He
was suddenly reduced to poverty, and had to part with his dog. He got a
loan of five thousand rupees from a brother merchant, leaving the dog as a
pledge, and with the money began business again. Not long after this the
other merchant's shop was broken into by thieves and completely sacked.
There 'was hardly ten rupees' worth left in the place. The faithful dog,
however, knew what was going on, and went and followed the thieves, and
saw where they deposited the things, and then returned.

"In the morning there was great weeping and lamentation in the merchant's
house when it was known what had happened. The merchant himself nearly
went mad. Meanwhile the dog kept on running to the door, and pulling at
his master's shirt and paijamas, as though wishing him to go outside. At last
a friend suggested that, perhaps, the dog knew something of the
whereabouts of the things, and advised the merchant to follow its leadings.
The merchant consented, and went after the dog right up to the very place
where the thieves had hidden the goods. Here the animal scraped and
barked, and showed in various ways that the things were underneath. So
the merchant and his friends dug about the place, and soon came upon all
the stolen property. Nothing was missing. There was everything just as the
thieves had taken them.

"The merchant was very glad. On returning to his house, he at once sent the
dog back to its old master with a letter rolled under the collar, wherein he
had written about the sagacity of the beast, and begged his friend to forget
the loan and to accept another five thousand rupees as a present. When this
merchant saw his dog coming back again, he thought, 'Alas! my friend is
wanting the money. How can I pay him? I have not had sufficient time to
recover myself from my recent losses. I will slay the dog ere be reaches the
threshold, and say that another must have slain it. Thus there will be an end
of my debt. No dog, no loan.' Accordingly he ran out and killed the poor
dog, when the letter fell out of its collar. The merchant picked it up and read
it. How great was his grief and disappointment when he knew the facts of
the case!

"Beware," continued the prince, 'lest you do that which afterwards you
would give your life not to have done."
 97

By the time the prince had concluded this story it was nearly morning, and
he went away, after rewarding the man.

The prince then visited the country belonging to his brother-in-law. He

disguised himself as a jogi, and sitting down by a tree near the palace,
pretended to be absorbed in worship. News of the man and of his
wonderful piety reached the ears of the king. He felt interested in him, as his
wife was very ill; and he had sought for hakims to cure her, but in vain. He
thought that, perhaps, this holy man could do something for her. So he sent
to him. But the jogi refused to tread the halls of a king, saying that his
dwelling was the open air, and that if his Majesty wished to see him he must
come himself and bring his wife to the place. Then the king took his wife and
brought her to the jogi. The holy man bade her prostrate herself before him,
and when she had remained in this position for about three hours, he told
her to rise and go, for she was cured.

In the evening there was great consternation in the palace, because the
queen had lost her pearl rosary, and nobody knew anything about it. At
length some one went to the jogi, and found it on the ground by the place
where the queen had prostrated herself. When the king heard this he was
very angry, and ordered the jogi to be executed. This stern order, however,
was not carried out, as the prince bribed the men and escaped from the
country. But he knew that the second bit of advice was true.

Clad in his own clothes, the prince was walking along one day when he saw
a potter crying and laughing alternately with his wife and children. "O fool,"
said he, "what is the matter? If you laugh, why do you weep? If you weep,
why do you laugh?"

"Do not bother me," said the potter. "What does it matter to you?"

"Pardon me," said the prince, "but I should like to know the reason."

"The reason is this, then," said the potter. "The king of this country has a
daughter whom he is obliged to marry every day, because all her husbands
die the first night of their stay with her. Nearly all the young men of the
place have thus perished, and our son will be called on soon. We laugh at
 98

the absurdity of the thing--a potter's son marrying a princess, and we cry at
the terrible consequence of the marriage. What can we do?"

"Truly a matter for laughing and weeping. But weep no more," said the
prince. "I will exchange places with your son, and will be married to the
princess instead of him. Only give me suitable garments, and prepare me for
the occasion."

So the potter gave him beautiful raiment and ornaments, and the prince
went to the palace. At night he was conducted to the apartment of the
princess. "Dread hour!" thought he; "am I to die like the scores of young
men before me?" He clenched his sword with firm grip, and lay down on his
bed, intending to keep awake all the night and see what would happen. In
the middle of the night he saw two Shahmars come out from the nostrils of
the princess. They stole over towards him, intending to kill him, like the
others who had been before him: but he was ready for them. He laid hold of
his sword, and when the snakes reached his bed he struck at them and killed
them. In the morning the king came as usual to inquire, and was surprised to
hear his daughter and the prince talking. gaily together. "Surely," said he,
"this man must be her husband, as he only can live with her."

"Where do you come from? Who are you?" asked the king, entering the
room.

"O king! "replied the prince, "I am the son of a king who rules over such-and-
such a country."

When he heard this the king was very glad, and bade the prince to abide in
his palace, and appointed him his successor to the throne. The prince
remained at the palace for more than a year, and then asked permission to
visit his own country, which was granted. The king gave him elephants,
horses, jewels, and abundance of money for the expenses of the way and as
presents for his father, and the prince started.

On the way he had to pass through the country belonging to his brother-in-
law, whom we have already mentioned. Report of his arrival reached the
ears of the king, who came with rope-tied hands and haltered neck to do
him homage. He most humbly begged him to stay at his palace, and to
 99

accept what little hospitality could be provided. While the prince was
staying at the palace be saw his sister, who greeted him with smiles and
kisses. On leaving he told her how she and her husband had treated him at
his first visit, and how he escaped; and then gave them two elephants; two
beautiful horses, fifteen soldiers, and ten lacs rupees' worth of jewels.

Afterwards he went to his own home, and informed his mother and father
of his arrival. Alas! his parents bad both become blind from weeping about
the loss of their son. "Let him come in," said the king, "and put his hands
upon our eyes, and we shall see again." So the prince entered, and was most
affectionately greeted by his old parents; and he laid his hands on their eyes,
and they saw again.

Then the prince told his father all that had happened to him, and how he
had been saved several times by attending to the advice that he had
purchased from the Brahmani. Whereupon the king expressed his sorrow
for having sent him away, and all was joy and peace again.
 100

THE GOLD-GIVING SERPENT

NOW in a certain place there lived a Brahman named Haridatta. He was a

farmer, but poor was the return his labour brought him. One day, at the end
of the hot hours, the Brahman, overcome by the heat, lay down under the
shadow of a tree to have a doze. Suddenly he saw a great hooded snake
creeping out of an ant-hill near at hand. So he thought to himself, "Sure this
is the guardian deity of the field, and I have not ever worshipped it. That's
why my farming is in vain. I will at once go and pay my respects to it."

When he had made up his mind, he got some milk, poured it into a bowl, and
went to the ant-hill, and said aloud:

"O Guardian of this Field! all this while I did not know that you dwelt here.
That is why I have not yet paid my respects to you; pray forgive me." And he
laid the milk down and went to his house. Next morning he came and
looked, and he saw a gold denar in the bowl, and from that time onward
every day the same thing occurred: he gave milk to the serpent and found a
gold denar.

One day the Brahman had to go to the village, and so be ordered his son to
take the milk to the ant-hill. The son brought the milk, put it down, and went
back home. Next day he went again and found a denar, so he thought to
himself: "This, ant-hill is surely full of golden denars; I'll kill the serpent, and
take them all for myself." So next day, while he was giving the milk to the
serpent, the Brahman's son struck it on the head with a cudgel. But the
serpent escaped death by the will of fate, and in a rage bit the Brahman's
son with its sharp fangs, and he fell down dead at once. His people raised
him a funeral pyre not far from the field and burnt him to ashes.
 101

Two days afterwards his father came back, and when he learnt his son's fate
he grieved and mourned. But after a time, be took the bowl of milk, went to
the ant-hill, and praised the serpent with a loud voice. After a long, long time
the serpent appeared, but only with its head out of the opening of the ant-
hill, and spoke to the Brahman: "'Tis greed that brings you here, and makes
you even forget the loss of your son. From this time forward friendship
between us is impossible. Your son struck me in youthful ignorance, and I
have bitten him to death. How can I forget the blow with the cudgel? And
how can you forget the pain and grief at the loss of your son?" So speaking,
it gave the Brahman a costly pearl and disappeared. But before it went away
it said: "Come back no more." The Brahman took the pearl, and went back
home, cursing the folly of his son.
 102

THE SON OF SEVEN QUEENS

ONCE upon a time there lived a king who had seven Queens, 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 it happened one day that a poor old fakir came to the King, and said,
"Your prayers are heard, your desire shall be accomplished, and one 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 more 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 was at
first unsuccessful, 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, till, just as he thought to lay hold of the
 103

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, keeping the white hind in view, 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.
 104

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, so 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, promising her everything she
could desire, she replied "Give me the eyes of your seven Queens, and then
perhaps I may believe 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 horrible 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 had their eyes
torn out, and were cast into prison, a baby was born to the youngest of the
Queens. It was a handsome boy, but the other Queens were very jealous
that the youngest amongst them should be so fortunate. But 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 could
walk about 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.
 105

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 past 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 of 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!"
 106

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

Whilst 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 who ever heard of
such a thing? The King, in despair, had ordered every man who entered the
city gates to be led before the Princess; 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 Queens said
he would not marry the Princess unless they first let him recover his
mothers' eyes. When the beautiful bride heard his story, she asked to see
the potsherd, for she was very learned and clever. Seeing the treacherous
words, she said nothing, but taking another similar-shaped bit of potsherd,
she wrote on it these words--" Take care of this lad, giving him all he
desires," and returned it to the son of seven Queens, 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 lost one last week."

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
 107

elder Queens; but to the youngest he gave one, saying, "Dearest little
mother!--I will be your other eye always!"
 108

After this be set off to marry the Princess, as he had promised, but when
passing by the white Queen's palace he saw some pigeons on the roof.
Drawing his bow, he shot one, and it came fluttering past the window. 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 Jogi's wonderful cow, whose milk flows all day long,
and makes a pond as big as a kingdom. The lad, nothing loth, 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 Queens 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 Jogi'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 Jogi's cow, tall, white, and beautiful, while the
Jogi 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 Jogi, seeing the lad, called out fiercely, "What do you want here?"

Then the lad answered, according to the old hag's bidding,

 109

"I want your skin, for King Indra is making a new kettledrum, and says your
skin is nice and tough."

Upon this the Jogi began to shiver and shake (for no Jinn or Jogi 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 Queens, after a little pretended hesitation, agreed,
saying that after all it would not be difficult to find a nice tough skin like the
Jogi'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 Queens 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. 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.

She sent for him to ask how he had returned so soon, and when she heard
how kindly her mother had received him, the 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!"
 110

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 Queens set off, and soon came to the field where,
guarded by eighteen millions of demons, the million-fold rice grew. He
 111

walked on bravely, looking neither to the right or 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 Queens 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 Queens returned joyfully to his seven mothers, 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 Queens, 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
 112

grave ploughed over, and after that the seven Queens returned to their
own splendid palace, and everybody lived happily.
 113

A LESSON FOR KINGS

ONCE upon a time, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the future
Buddha returned to life as his son and heir. And when the day came for
choosing a name, they called him Prince Brahma-datta. He grew up in due
course; and when he was sixteen years old, went to Takkasila, and became
accomplished in all arts. And after his father died he ascended the throne,
and ruled the kingdom with righteousness and equity. He gave judgments
without partiality, hatred, ignorance, or fear. Since he thus reigned with
justice, with justice also his ministers administered the law. Law-suits being
thus decided with justice, there were none who brought false cases. And as
these ceased, the noise and tumult of litigation ceased in the king's court.
Though the judges sat all day in the court, they had to leave without any one
coming for justice. It came to this, that the Hall of Justice would have to be
closed!

Then the future Buddha thought, "It cannot be from my reigning with
righteousness that none come for judgment; the bustle has ceased, and the
Hall of Justice will have to be closed. I must, therefore, now examine into
my own faults; and if I find that anything is wrong in me, put that away, and
practise only virtue."

Thenceforth he sought for some one to tell him his faults, but among those
around him he found no one who would tell him of any fault, but heard only
his own praise.

Then he thought, "It is from fear of me that these men speak only good
things, and not evil things," and he sought among those people who lived
outside 'the palace. And finding no fault-finder there, he sought among
those who lived outside the city, in the suburbs, at the four gates. And there
too finding no one to find fault, and hearing only his own praise, he
determined to search the country places.

So he made over the kingdom to his ministers, and mounted his chariot; and
taking only his charioteer, left the city in disguise. And searching the country
 114

through, up to the very boundary, he found no fault-finder, and heard only

of his own virtue; and so he turned back from the outermost boundary, and
returned by the high road towards the city.

Now at that time the king of Kosala, Mallika by name, was also ruling his
kingdom with righteousness; and when seeking for some fault in himself, he
also found no faultfinder in the palace, but only heard of his own virtue! So
seeking in country places, he too came to that very spot. And these two
came face to face in a low cart-track 'with precipitous sides, where there
was no space for a chariot to get out of the way!

Then the charioteer of Mallika the king said to the charioteer of the king of
Benares, "Take thy chariot out of the way!"

But he said, "Take thy chariot out of the way, O charioteer! In this chariot
sitteth the lord over the kingdom of Benares, the great king Brahma-datta."
 115

Yet the other replied, "In this chariot, O charioteer, sitteth the lord over the
kingdom of Kosala, the great king Mallika. Take thy carriage out of the way,
and make room for the chariot of our king!"

Then the charioteer of the king of Benares thought, "They say then that he
too is a king! What is now to be done?" After some consideration, be said to
himself, "I know a way. I'll find out how old he is, and then I'll let 'the chariot
of the younger be got out of the way, and so make room for the elder."

And when he had arrived at that conclusion, he asked that charioteer what
the age of the king of Kosala was. But on inquiry he found that the ages of
both were equal. Then he inquired about the extent of his kingdom, and
about his army, and his wealth, and his renown, and about the country he
lived in, and his caste and tribe and family. And he found that both were
lords of a kingdom three hundred leagues in extent; and that in respect of
army and wealth and renown, and the countries in which they lived, and
their caste and their tribe and their family, they were just on a par!

Then he thought, "I will make way for the most righteous." And he asked,
"What kind of righteousness has this king of yours."

Then the charioteer of the king of Kosala, proclaiming his king's wickedness
as goodness, uttered the First Stanza:

"The strong he overthrows by strength,

The mild by mildness, does Mallika;
The good he conquers by goodness,
And the wicked by wickedness too.
Such is the nature of this king!
Move out of the way, O charioteer "

But the charioteer of the king of Benares asked him, "Well, have you told all
the virtues of your king?"

"Yes," said the other.

"If these are his virtues, where are then his faults?" replied he.

The other said, "Well, for the nonce they shall be faults, if you like! But pray,
then, what is the kind of goodness your king has?"
 116

And then the charioteer of the king of Benares called unto him to hearken,
and uttered the Second Stanza:

"Anger he conquers by calmness,

And by goodness the wicked;
The stingy he conquers by gifts,
And by truth the speaker of lies.
Such is the nature of this king!
'Move out of the way, O charioteer!"

And when he had thus spoken, both Mallika the king and his charioteer
alighted from their chariot. And they took out the horses, and removed their
chariot, and made way for the king of Benares!
 117

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL

IN a certain village there lived ten cloth merchants, who always went about
together. Once upon a time they had travelled far afield, and were returning
home with a great deal of money which they had obtained by selling their
wares. Now there happened to be a dense forest near their village, and this
they reached early one morning. In it there lived three notorious robbers, of
whose existence the traders had never heard, and while they were still in
the middle of it the robbers stood before them, with swords and cudgels in
their hands, and ordered them to lay down all they had. The traders had no
weapons with them, and so, though they were many more in number, they
had to submit them-selves to the robbers, who took away everything from
them, even the very clothes they wore, and gave to each only a small loin-
cloth a span in breadth and a cubit in length.

The idea that they had conquered ten men and plundered all their property,
now took possession of the robbers' minds. They seated themselves like
three monarches before the men they had plundered, and ordered them to
dance to them before returning home. The merchants now mourned their
fate. They had lost all they had, except their loincloth, and still the robbers
were not satisfied, but ordered them to dance.

There was, among the ten merchants, one who was very clever. He
pondered over . calamity that had come upon him and his friends, the dance
they would have to perform, and the magnificent manner in which the three
robbers had seated themselves on the grass. At the same time he observed
that these last had placed their weapons on the ground, in the assurance of
having thoroughly cowed the traders, who were now commencing to
dance. So he took the lead in the dance, and, as a song is always sung by the
leader on such occasions, to which the rest keep time with hands and feet,
he thus began to sing:

'We are enty men,

They are erith men:
If each erith man,
 118

Surround eno men

Eno man remains.
Ta, tai, tom, tadingana."

The robbers were all uneducated, and thought that the leader was merely
singing a song as usual. So it was in one sense; for the leader commenced
from a distance, and had sung the song over twice before he and his
companions commenced to approach the robbers. They had understood his
meaning, because they had been trained in trade.

When two traders discuss the price of an article in the presence of a

purchaser, they use a riddling sort of language.

"What is the price of this cloth?" one trader will ask another.

"Enty rupees," another will reply, meaning "ten rupees."

Thus, there is no possibility of the purchaser knowing what is meant unless

he be acquainted with trade language.

By the rules of this secret language erith means "three" enty means "ten,"
and eno means "one."

So the leader by his song meant to hint to his fellow-traders that they were
ten men, the robbers only three, that if three pounced upon each of the
robbers, nine of them could hold them down, while the remaining one
bound the robbers' hands and feet.
 119

The three thieves, glorying in their victory, and little understanding the
meaning of the song and the intentions of the dancers, were proudly seated
chewing betel and tobacco.

Meanwhile the song was sung a third time. Ta tai tom had left the lips of the
singer; and, before tadingana was out of them, the traders separated into
parties of three, and each party pounced upon a thief.

The remaining one--the leader himself--tore up into long narrow strips a

large piece of cloth, six cubits long, and tied the hands and feet of the
robbers. These were entirely humbled now, and rolled on the ground like
three bags of rice!

The ten traders now took back all their property, and armed themselves
with the swords and cudgels of their enemies; and when they reached their
village, they often amused their friends and relatives by relating their
adventure.
120
 121

RAJA RASALU

ONCE there lived a great Raja, whose flame was Salabhan, and be had a
Queen, by name Lona, who, though she wept and prayed at many a shrine,
had never a child to gladden her eyes. After a long time, however, a son was
promised to her.

Queen Lona returned to the palace, and when the time for the birth of the
promised son drew nigh, she inquired of three Jogis who came begging to
her gate, what the child's fate would be, and the youngest of them
answered and said, "Oh, Queen! the child will be a boy, and he will live to be
a great man. But for twelve years you must not look upon his face, for if
either you or his father see it before the twelve years are past, you will
surely die! This is what you must do; as soon as the child is born you must
send him away to a cellar underneath the ground, and never let him see the
light of day for twelve years. After they are over, he may come forth, bathe
in the river, put on new clothes, and visit you. His name shall be Raja Rasalu,
and he shall be known far and wide."

So, when a fair young Prince was in due time born into the world, his
parents hid him away in an underground palace, with nurses, and servants,
and everything else a King's son might desire. And with him they sent a
young colt, born the same day, and sword, spear, and shield, against the day
when Raja Rasalu should go forth into the world.

So there the child lived, playing with his colt, and talking to his parrot, while
the nurses taught him all things needful for a King's son to know.

Young Rasalu lived on, far from the light of day, for eleven long years,
growing tall and strong, yet contented to remain playing with his colt, and
talking to his parrot; but when the twelfth year began, the lad's heart leapt
up with desire for change, and he loved to listen to the sounds of life which
came to him in his palace-prison from the outside world.
 122

"I must go and see where the voices come from!" he said; and when his
nurses told him he must not go for one year more, he only laughed aloud,
saying, "Nay! I stay no longer here for any man!"

Then he saddled his Arab horse Bhaunr, put on his shining armour, and rode
forth into the world; but, mindful of what his nurses had oft told him, when
he came to the river, he dismounted, and, going into the water, washed
himself and his clothes.

Then, clean of raiment, fair of face, and brave of heart, he rode on his way
until he reached his father's city. There he sat down to rest awhile by a well,
where the women were drawing water in earthen pitchers. Now, as they
passed him, their full pitchers poised upon their heads, the gay young prince
flung stones at the earthen vessels, and broke them all. Then the women,
drenched with water, went weeping and wailing to the palace, complaining
to the King that a mighty young Prince in shining armour, with a parrot on
his wrist and a gallant steed beside him, sat by the well, and broke their
pitchers.

Now, as soon as Raja Salabhan heard this, he guessed at once that it was
Prince Rasalu come forth before the time, and, mindful of the Jogis' words
that he would die if he looked on his son's face before twelve years were
past, he did not dare to send his guards to seize the offender and bring him
to be judged. So he bade the women be comforted, and take pitchers of
iron and brass, giving new ones from the treasury to those who did not
possess any of their own.

But when Prince Rasalu saw the women returning to the well with pitchers
of iron and brass, he laughed to himself, and drew his mighty bow till the
sharp-pointed arrows pierced the metal vessels as though they had been
clay.

Yet still the King did not send for him, so he mounted his steed and set off in
the pride of his youth and strength to the palace. He strode into the
audience hall, where his father sat trembling, and saluted him with all
reverence; but Raja Salabhan, in fear of his life, turned his back hastily and
said never a word in reply.
 123

Then Prince Rasalu called scornfully to him across the hall:

"I came to greet thee, King, and not to harm thee!

What have I done that thou shouldst turn away?
Sceptre and empire have no power to charm me--
I go to seek a worthier prize than they!"

Then he strode away, full of bitterness and anger; but as he passed under
the palace windows, he heard his mother weeping, and the sound softened
his heart, so that his wrath died down, and a great loneliness fell upon him,
because he was spurned by both father and mother. So he cried sorrowfully,

"Oh heart crown'd with grief, hast thou nought

But tears for thy son?
Art mother of mine? Give one thought
To my life just begun!"

And Queen Lona answered through her tears:

"Yea! mother am I, though I weep,

So hold this word sure,--
Go, reign king of all men, but keep
Thy heart good and pure!"

So Raja Rasalu was comforted, and began to make ready for fortune. He
took with him his horse Bhaunr and his parrot, both of whom had lived with
him since he was born. So they made a goodly company, and Queen Lona,
when she saw them going, watched them from her window till she saw
nothing but a cloud of dust on the horizon; then she bowed her head on her
hands and wept, saying:

"Oh! son who ne'er gladdened mine eyes,

Let the cloud of thy going arise,
Dim the sunlight and darken the day;
For the mother whose son is away
Is as dust!"

Rasalu had started off to play chaupur with King Sarkap. And as he
journeyed there came a fierce storm of thunder and lightning, so that he
 124

sought shelter, and found none save an old graveyard, where a headless
corpse lay upon the ground; So lonesome was it that even the corpse
seemed company, and Rasalu, sitting down beside it, said:

"There is no one here, nor far nor near,

Save this breathless corpse so cold and grim;
Would God he might come to life again,
'Twould be less lonely to talk to him."

And immediately the headless corpse arose and sat beside Raja Rasalu. And
he, nothing astonished, said to it:

"The storm beats fierce and loud,

The clouds rise thick in the west;
What ails thy grave and shroud,
Oh corpse! that thou canst not rest?"

Then the headless corpse replied:

"On earth I was even as thou,

My turban awry like a king,
My head with the highest, I trow,
Having my fun and my fling,
Fighting my foes like a brave,
Living my life with a swing.
And, now I am dead,
Sins, heavy as lead,
Will give me no rest in my grave!"

So the night passed on, dark and dreary, while Rasalu sat in the graveyard
and talked to the headless corpse. Now when morning broke and Rasalu
said he must continue his journey, the headless corpse asked him whither he
was going, and when he said "to play chaupur with King Sarkap," the corpse
begged him to give up the idea saying, "I am King Sarkap's brother, and I
know his ways. Every day, before breakfast, he cuts off the heads of two or
three men, just to amuse himself. One day no one else was at hand, so he
cut off mine, and he will surely cut off yours on some pretence or another.
However, if you are determined to go and play chaupur with him, take some
 125

of the bones from this graveyard, and make your dice out of them, and then
the enchanted dice with which my brother plays will lose their virtue.
Otherwise he will always win."

So Rasalu took some of the bones lying about, and fashioned them into dice,
and these he put into his pocket. Then, bidding adieu to the headless corpse,
he went on his way to play chaupur with the King.

Now, as Raja Rasalu, tender-hearted and strong, journeyed along to play

chaupur with the King, he came to a burning forest, and a voice rose from
the fire saying, "Oh, traveller! for God's sake save me from the fire!"

Then the Prince turned towards the burning forest, and, lo! the voice was
the voice of a tiny cricket. Nevertheless, Rasalu, tender-hearted and strong,
snatched it from the fire and set it at liberty. Then the little creature, full of,
gratitude, pulled out one of its feelers, and giving it to its preserver, said,
"Keep this, and should you ever be in trouble, put it into the fire, and
instantly I will come to your aid."

The Prince smiled, saying, "What help could you give me?" Nevertheless, he
kept the hair and went on his way.

Now, when he reached the city of King Sarkap, seventy maidens, daughters
of the King, came out to meet him--seventy fair maidens, merry and careless,
full of smiles and laughter; but one, the youngest of them all, when she saw
the gallant young Prince riding on Bhaunr Iraqi, going gaily to his doom, was
filled with pity, and called to him saying:

"Fair Prince, on the charger so gray,

Turn thee back! turn thee back!
Or lower thy lance for the fray;
Thy head will be forfeit to-day!
Dost love life? then, stranger, I pray,
Turn thee back! turn thee back!"

But he, smiling at the maiden, answered lightly:

"Fair maiden, I come from afar,

Sworn conqueror in love and in war!
 126

King Sarkap my coming will rue,

His head in four pieces I'll hew;
Then forth as a bridegroom I'll ride,
With you, little maid, as my bride!"

Now when Rasalu replied so gallantly, the maiden looked in his face, and
seeing how fair he was, and how brave and strong, she straightway fell in
love with him, and would gladly have followed him through the world.

But the other sixty-nine maidens, being jealous, laughed scornfully at her,
saying, "Not so fast, oh gallant warrior! If you would marry our sister you
must first do our bidding, for you will be our younger brother."

"Fair sisters!" quoth Rasalu gaily, "give me my task and I will perform it."

So the sixty-nine maidens mixed a hundredweight of millet seed with a

hundredweight of sand, and giving it to Rasalu, bade him separate the seed
from the sand.

Then he bethought him of the cricket, and drawing, the feeler from his
pocket, thrust it into the fire. And immediately there was a whirring noise in
the air, and a great flight of crickets alighted beside him, and amongst them
the cricket whose life he had saved.

Then Rasalu said, "Separate the millet seed from the sand."

"Is that all?" quoth the cricket; "had I known how small a job you wanted me
to do, I would not have assembled so many of my brethren."

With that the flight of crickets set to work, and in one night they separated
the seed from the sand.

Now when the sixty-nine fair maidens, daughters of the king, saw that
Rasalu had performed his task, they set him another, bidding him swing
them all, one by one, in their swings, until they were tired.

Whereupon he laughed, saying, "There are seventy of you, counting my little

bride yonder, and I am not going to spend my life swinging girls! Why, by the
time I have given each of you a swing, the first will be wanting another! No!
 127

if you want a swing, get in, all seventy of you, into one swing, and then I'll
see what can be done."

So the seventy maidens climbed into one swing, and Raja Rasalu, standing in
his shining armour, fastened the ropes to his mighty bow, and drew it up to
its fullest bent. Then he let go, and like an arrow the swing shot into the air,
with its burden of seventy fair maidens, merry and careless, full of smiles
and laughter.

But as it swung back again, Rasalu, standing there in his shining armour,
drew his sharp sword and severed, the ropes. Then the seventy fair maidens
fell to the ground headlong; and some were bruised and some broken, but
the only one who escaped unhurt was the maiden who loved Rasalu, for she
fell out last, on the top of the others, and so came to no harm.

After this, Rasalu strode on fifteen paces, till he came to the seventy drums,
that every one who came to play chaupur with the King had to beat in turn;
and he beat them so loudly that he broke them all. Then he came to the
seventy gongs, all in a row, and he hammered them so hard that they
cracked to pieces.

Seeing this, the youngest Princess, who was the only one who could run,
fled to her father the King in a great fright, saying:

"A mighty Prince, Sarkap! making havoc, rides along,

'He swung us, seventy maidens fair, and threw us out headlong;
He broke the drums you placed there and the gongs too in his pride,
Sure, he will kill thee, father mine, and take me for his bride!"

But King Sarkap replied scornfully:

"Silly maiden, thy words make a lot

Of a very small matter;
For fear of my valour, I wot,
His armour will clatter.
As soon as I've eaten my bread
I'll go forth and cut off his head!"
 128

Notwithstanding these brave and boastful words, he was in reality very

much afraid, having heard of Rasalu's renown. And learning that he was
stopping at the house of an old woman in the city, till the hour for playing
 129

chaupur arrived, Sarkap sent slaves to him with trays of sweetmeats and
fruit, as to an honoured guest. But the food was poisoned. Now when the
slaves brought the trays to Raja Rasalu, he rose up haughtily, saying, "Go,
tell your master I have nought to do with him in friendship. I am his sworn
enemy, and I eat not of his salt!"

So saying, he threw the sweetmeats to Raja Sarkap's dog, which had

followed the slave, and lo! the dog died.

Then Rasalu was very wroth, and said bitterly, "Go back to Sarkap, slaves!
and tell him that Rasalu deems it no act of bravery to kill even an enemy by
treachery."

Now, when evening came, Raja Rasalu went forth to play chaupur with King
Sarkap, and as he passed some potters' kilns he saw a cat wandering about
restlessly; so he asked what ailed her, that she never stood still, and she
replied, "My kittens are in an unbaked pot in the kiln yonder. It has just been
set alight, .and my children will be baked alive; therefore I cannot rest!"

Her words moved the heart of Raja Rasalu, and, going to the potter, he
asked him to sell the kiln as it was; but the potter replied that he could not
settle a fair price till the pots were burnt, as he could not tell how many
would come out whole. Nevertheless, after some bargaining, he consented
at last to sell the kiln, and Rasalu, having searched all the pots, restored the
kittens to their mother, and she, in gratitude for his mercy, gave him one of
them, saying, "Put it in your pocket, for it will help you when you are in
difficulties." So Raja Rasalu put the kitten in his pocket, and went to play
chaupur with the King.

Now, before they sat down to play, Raja Sarkap fixed his stakes,--on the first
game, his kingdom; on the second, the wealth of the whole world; and, on
the third, his own head. So, likewise, Raja Rasalu fixed his stakes,--on the
first game, his arms; on the second, his horse; and, on the third, his own
head.

Then they began to play, and it fell to Rasalu's lot to make the first move.
Now he, forgetful of the dead man's warning, played with the dice given
him by Raja Sarkap, besides which, Sarkap let loose his famous rat, Dhol
 130

Raja, and it ran about the board, upsetting the chaupur pieces on the sly, so
that Rasalu lost the first game, and gave up his shining armour.

Then the second game began, and once more Dhol Raja, the rat, upset the
pieces; and Rasalu, losing the game, gave up his faithful steed. Then Bhaunr,
the Arab steed, who stood by, found voice, and cried to his master,

"Sea-born am I, bought with much gold;

Dear Prince! trust me now as of old.
I'll carry you far from these wiles--
My flight, all unspurr'd, will be swift as a bird,
For thousands and thousands of miles!
Or if needs you must stay; ere the next game you play,
Place hand in your pocket, I pray!"

Hearing this, Raja Sarkap frowned, and bade his slaves,remove Bhaunr, the
Arab steed, since he gave his master advice in the game. Now, when the
slaves came to lead the faithful steed away, Rasalu could not refrain from
tears, thinking over the long years during which Bhaunr, the Arab steed, had
been his companion. But the horse cried out again,

"Weep not, dear Prince! I shall not eat my bread

Of stranger hands, nor to strange stall be led.
Take thy right hand, and place it as I said."

These words roused some recollection in Rasalu's mind, and when, just at
this moment, the kitten in his pocket began to struggle, he remembered all
about the warning, and the dice made from dead men's bones. Then his
heart rose up once more, and he called boldly to Raja Sarkap, "Leave my
horse and arms here for the present. Time enough to take them away when
you have won my head!"

Now, Raja Sarkap, seeing Rasalu's confident bearing, began to be afraid, and
ordered all the women of his palace to come forth in their gayest attire and
stand before Rasalu, so as to distract his attention from the game. But he
never even looked at them, and throwing the dice from his pocket, said to
Sarkap, "We have played with your dice all this time; now we will play with
mine."
 131

Then the kitten went and sat at the window through which the rat Dhol Raja
used to come, and the game began.

After a while, Sarkap, seeing Raja Rasalu was winning, called to his rat, but
when Dhol Raja saw the kitten he was afraid, and would not go further. So
Rasalu won, and took back his arms. 'Next he played for his horse, and once
more Raja Sarkap called for his rat; but Dhol Raja, seeing the kitten keeping
watch, was afraid. So Rasalu won the second stake, and took back Bhaunr,
the Arab steed.

Then Sarkap brought all his skill to bear on the third and last game, saying,

"Oh moulded pieces! favour me to-day!

For sooth this is a man with whom I play.
No paltry risk--but life and death at stake;
As Sarkap does, so do, for Sarkap's sake!"

But Rasalu answered back,

"Oh moulded pieces! favour me today!

For sooth it is a man with whom I play.
No paltry risk--but life and death at stake;
As Heaven does, so do, for Heaven's sake!"

So they began to play, whilst the women stood round in a circle, and the
kitten watched Dhol Raja from the window. Then Sarkap lost, first his
kingdom, then the wealth of the whole world, and lastly his head.

Just then, a servant came in to announce the birth of a daughter to Raja

Sarkap, and he, overcome by misfortunes, said, "Kill her at once! for she has
been born in an evil moment, and has brought her father ill luck!"

But Rasalu rose up in his shining armour, tender-hearted and strong, saying,
"Not so, oh king! She has done no evil. Give me this child to wife; and if you
will vow, by all you hold sacred, never again to play chaupur for another's
head, I will spare yours now!"

Then Sarkap vowed a solemn vow never to play for another's head; and
after that he took a fresh mango branch, and the new-born babe, and
placing them on a golden dish gave them to Rasalu.
 132

Now, as be left the palace, carrying with him the new-born babe and the
mango branch, he met a band of prisoners, and they called out to him,

"A royal hawk art thou, oh King, the rest

But timid wild-fowl. Grant us. our request,--
Unloose these chains, and live for ever blest!"

And Raja Rasalu hearkened to them, and bade King Sarkap set them at
liberty.

Then he went to the Murti Hills, and placed the new-born babe, Kokilan, in
an underground palace, and planted the mango branch at the door, saying, "
In twelve years the mango tree will blossom; then will I return and marry
Kokilan."

And after twelve years, the mango tree began to flower, and Raja Rasalu
married the Princess Kokilan, whom he won from Sarkap when he played
chaupur with the King.
 133

THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN

AT the same time, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the future
Buddha was born one of a peasant family; and when he grew up, he gained
his living by tilling the ground.

At that time a hawker used to go from place to place, trafficking in goods

carried by an ass. Now at each place he came to, when he took the pack
down from the ass's back, he used to clothe him in a lion's skin, and turn him
loose in the rice and barley fields. And when the watchmen in the fields saw
the ass, they dared not go near him, taking him for a lion.
 134

So one day the hawker stopped in a village; and whilst he was getting his
own breakfast cooked, he dressed the ass in a lion's skin, and turned him
loose in a barley-field. The watchmen in the field dared not go up to him; but
going home, they published the news. Then all the villagers came out with
weapons in, their hands; and blowing chanks, and beating drums, they went
near the field and shouted. Terrified with the fear of death, the ass uttered a
cry--the bray of an ass!

And when he knew him then to be an ass, the future Buddha pronounced
the First Verse:

"This is not a lion's roaring,

Nor a tiger's, nor a panther's;
Dressed in a lion's skin,
'Tis a wretched ass that roars!".

But when the villagers knew the creature to be an ass, they beat him till his
bones broke; and, carrying off the lion's skin, went away. Then the hawker
came; and seeing the ass fallen into so bad a plight, pronounced the Second
Verse:

"Long might the ass,

Clad in a lion's skin,
Have fed on the barley green.
But he brayed!
And that moment he came to ruin."

And even whilst he was yet speaking the ass died on the spot!
 135

THE FARMER AND THE MONEY-LENDER

THERE was once a farmer who suffered much at the hands of a money-
lender. Good harvests, or bad, the farmer was always poor, the money-
lender rich. At the last, when he hadn't a farthing left, the farmer went to
the money-lender's house, and said, "You can't squeeze water from a stone,
and as you have nothing to get by me now, you might tell me the secret of
becoming rich."

"My friend," returned the money-lender, piously, "riches come from Ram--
ask him."

"Thank you, I will!" replied the simple farmer; so he prepared three girdle-
cakes to last him on the journey, and set out to find Ram.

First he met a Brahman, and to him he gave a cake, asking him to point out
the road to Ram; but the Brahman only took the cake and went on his way
without a word. Next the fanner met a Jogi or devotee, and to him he gave a
cake, without receiving any help in return. At last, he came upon a poor man
sitting under a tree, and finding out he was hungry, the kindly farmer gave
him the last cake, and sitting down to rest beside him, entered into
conversation.

"And where are you going?" asked the poor man, at length.

"Oh I have a long journey before me, for I am going to find Ram!" replied the
farmer. "I don't suppose you could tell me which way to go?"

"Perhaps I can," said the poor man, smiling, "for I am Ram! What do you
want of me?"

Then the farmer told the whole story, and Ram, taking pity on him, gave him
a conch shell, and showed him how to to blow it in a particular way, saying,
"Remember! whatever you wish for, you have only to blow the conch that
way, and your wish will be fulfilled. Only have a care of that money-lender,
for even magic is not proof against their wiles!"
 136

The farmer went back to his village rejoicing. In fact the money-lender
noticed his high spirits at once, and said to himself, "Some good fortune
must have befallen the stupid fellow, to make him hold his head so jauntily."
Therefore he went over to the simple farmer's house, and congratulated
him on his good fortune, in such cunning words, pretending to have heard
all about it, that before long the farmer found himself telling the whole
story--all except the secret of blowing the conch, for, with all his simplicity,
the farmer was not quite such a fool as to tell that.
 137

Nevertheless the money-lender determined to have the conch by hook or by

crook, and as he was villain enough not to stick at trifles, he waited for a
favourable opportunity and stole the conch.

But, after nearly bursting himself with blowing the conch in every
conceivable way, he was obliged to give up the secret as a bad job.
However, being determined to succeed he went back to the farmer, and
said, coolly, "Look here; I've got your conch, but I can't use it; you haven't
got it, so it's dear you can't use it either. Business is at a standstill unless we
make a bargain. Now, I promise to give you back your conch, and never to
interfere with your using it, on one condition, which is this,--whatever you
get from it, I am to get double."

"Never!" cried the farmer; "that would be the old business all over again!"

"Not at all!" replied the wily money-lender; "you will have your share! Now,
don't he a dog in the manger, for if you get all you want, what can it matter
to you if I am rich or poor?"

At last, though it went sorely against the grain to be of any benefit to a

money-lender, the farmer was forced to yield, and from that time, no matter
what he gained by the power of the conch, the money-lender gained
double. And the knowledge that this was so preyed upon the farmer's mind
day and night, so that he had no satisfaction out of anything.

At last, there came a very dry season,--so dry that the farmer's crops
withered for want of rain.

Then he blew his conch, and wished for a well to water them, and lo! there
was the well, but the money-lender had two!--two beautiful new wells! This
was too much for any farmer to stand; and our friend brooded over it, and
brooded over it, till at last a bright idea came into his head. He seized the
conch, blew it loudly, and cried out,

"Oh, Ram! I wish to be blind of one eye!" And so he was, in a twinkling, but
the moneylender of course was blind of both, and in trying to steer his way
between the two new wells, he fell into one, and was drowned.
 138

Now this true story shows that a farmer once got the better of a money-
lender--but only by losing one of his eyes.
 139

THE BOY WHO HAD A MOON ON HIS FOREHEAD AND A

STAR ON HIS CHIN

In a country were seven daughters of poor parents, who used to come daily
to play under the shady trees in the King's garden with the gardener's
daughter; and daily she used to say to them, "When I am married I shall have
a son. Such a beautiful boy as he will be has never been seen. He will have a
moon on his forehead and a star on his chin." Then her playfellows used to
laugh at her and mock her.

But one day the King heard her telling them about the beautiful boy she
would have when she was married, and he said to himself he should like very
much to have such a son; the more so that though he had already four
Queens he had no child. He went, therefore, to the gardener and told him he
wished to marry his daughter. This delighted the gardener and his wife, who
thought it would indeed be grand for their daughter to become a princess.
So they said "Yes" to the King, and invited all their friends to the wedding.
The King invited all his, and he gave the gardener as much money as he
wanted. Then the wedding was held with great feasting and rejoicing.

A year later the day drew near on which the gardener's daughter was to
have her son; and the King's four other Queens came constantly to see her.
One day they said to her, "The King hunts every day; and the time is soon
coming when you will have your child. Suppose you fell ill whilst he was out
hunting and could therefore know nothing of your illness, what would you
do then?"

When the King came home that evening, the gardener's daughter said to
him, "Every day you go out hunting. Should I ever be in trouble or sick while
you are away, how could I send for you?" The King gave her a kettle-drum
which he placed near the door for her, and he said to her, "Whenever you
want me, beat this kettle-drum. No matter how far away I may be, I shall
hear it, and will come at once to you."
 140

Next morning when the King had gone out to hunt, his four other Queens
came to see the gardener's daughter. She told them all about her kettle-
drum. "Oh," they said, "do drum on it just to see if the King really will come
to you."

"No, I will not," she said; "for why should I call him from his hunting when I
do not want him?"

"Don't mind interrupting his hunting," they answered. "Do try if he really will
come to you when you beat your kettle-drum." So at last, just to please
them, she beat it, and the King stood before her.

"Why have you called me?" he said. "See, I have left my hunting to come to
you."

"I want nothing," she answered; "I only wished to know if you really would
come to me when I beat my drum."

"Very well," answered the King; "but do not call me again unless you really
need me." Then he returned to his hunting.

The next day; when the King had gone out hunting as usual, the four Queens
again came to see the gardener's daughter. They begged and begged her to
beat her drum once more, "just to see if the King will really come to see you
this time." At first she refused, but at last she consented. So she beat her
drum, and the King came to her. But when he found she was neither ill nor in
trouble, he was angry, 'and said to her, "Twice I have left my hunting and
lost my game to come to you when you did not need me. Now you may call
me as much as you like, but I will not come to you," and then be went away
in a rage.

The third day the' gardener's daughter fell ill, and she beat and beat her
kettle-drum; but the King never came. He heard her kettle-drum, but he
thought, "She does not really want me; she is only trying to see if I will go to
her."

Meanwhile the four other Queens came to her, and they said, "Here it is the
custom before a child is born to bind its mother's eyes with a handkerchief
that she may not see it just at first. So let us bind your eyes." She answered,
 141

"Very well, bind my eyes." The four wives then tied a handkerchief over
them.

Soon after, the gardener's daughter had a beautiful little son, with a moon
on his forehead and a star on his chin, and before the poor mother had seen
him, the four wicked Queens took the boy to the nurse and said to her,
"Now you must not let this child make the least sound for fear his mother
should hear him; and in the night you must either kill him, or else take him
away, so that his mother may never see him. If you obey our orders, we will
give you a great many rupees." All this they did out of spite. The nurse took
the little child and put him into a box, and the four Queens went back to the
gardener's daughter.

First they put a stone into her boy's little bed, and then they took the
handkerchief off her eyes and showed it her, saying, "Look! this is your son!"
The poor girl cried bitterly, and thought, "What will the King say when he
finds no child?" But she could do nothing. When the King came home, he
was furious at hearing his youngest wife, the gardener's daughter, had given
him a stone instead of the beautiful little son she had promised him. He
made her one of the palace servants, and never spoke to her.

In the middle of the night the nurse took the box in which was the beautiful
little prince, and went out to a broad plain in the jungle. There she dug a
hole, made the fastenings of the box sure, and put the box into the hole,
although the child in it was still alive. The King's dog, whose name was
Shankar, had followed her to see what she did with the box. As soon as she
had gone back to the four Queens (who gave her a great many rupees), the
dog went to the hole in which she had put the box, took the box out, and
opened it. When he saw the beautiful little boy, he was very much delighted
and said, "If it pleases Khuda that this child should live, I will not hurt him; 'I
will not eat him, but I will swallow him whole and hide him in my stomach."
This he did.

After six months had passed, the dog went by night to the jungle, and
thought, "I wonder whether the boy is alive or dead." Then he brought the
child out of his stomach and rejoiced over his beauty. The boy was now six
months old. When Shankar had caressed and loved him, he swallowed him
 142

again for another six months. At the end of that time he went once more by
night to the broad jungle-plain. There he brought up the child out of his
stomach (the child was now a year old); and caressed and petted him a
great deal, and was made very happy by his great beauty.

But this time the dog's keeper had followed and watched the dog; and he
saw all that Shankar did, and the beautiful little child, so he ran to the four
Queens and said to them, "Inside the King's dog there is a child! the loveliest
child! He has a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin. Such a child has
never been seen!" At this the four wives were very much frightened, and as
soon as the King came home from hunting they said to him, "While you were
away your dog came to our rooms, and tore our clothes and knocked about
all our things. We are afraid he will kill us." "Do not be afraid," said the King.
Eat your dinner and be happy. I will have the dog shot to-morrow morning."

Then he ordered his servants to shoot the dog at dawn, but the dog heard
him, and said to himself, "What shall I do? The King intends to kill me. I don't
care about that, but what will become of the child if I am killed? He will die.
But I will see if I cannot save him."

So when it was night, the dog ran to the King's cow, who was called Suri,
and said to her, "Suri, I want to give you something, for the King has
ordered me to be shot tomorrow. Will you take great care of whatever I give
you?"

"Let me see what it is," said Suri, "I will take care of it if I can." Then they
both went together to the wide plain, and there the dog brought up the
boy. Suri was enchanted with him. "I never saw such a beautiful child in this
country," she said. "See, he has a moon on his forehead and a star on his
chin. I will take the greatest care of him." So saying she swallowed the little
prince. The dog made her a great many salaams, and said, "To-morrow I
shall die;" and the cow then went back to her stable.

Next morning at dawn the dog was taken to the jungle and shot.

The child now lived in Suri's stomach; and when one whole year had passed,
and he was two years old, the cow went out to the plain, and said to herself,
"I do not know whether the child is alive or dead. But I have never hurt it, so
 143

I will see." Then she brought up the boy; and he played about, and Suri was
delighted; she loved him and caressed him, and talked to him. Then she
swallowed him, and returned to her stable.

At the end of another year she went again to the plain and brought up the
child. He played and ran about for an hour to her great delight, and she
talked to him and caressed him. His great beauty made her very happy. Then
she swallowed him once more and returned to her stable. The child was
now three years old.

But this time the cowherd had followed Suri, and had seen the wonderful
child and all she did to it. So he ran and told the four Queens, "The King's
cow has a beautiful boy inside hen. He has a moon on his. forehead and a
star on his chin. Such a child has never been seen before!"

At this the Queens were terrified. They tore their clothes and their hair and
cried. When the King came home at evening, he asked them why they were
so agitated. "Oh," they said, "your cow came and tried to kill us; but we ran
away. She tore our hair and our clothes." "Never mind," said the King. "Eat
your dinner and be happy. The cow shall be killed to-morrow morning."

Now Suri heard the King give this order to the servants, so she said to
herself, "What shall I do to save the child?" When it was midnight, she went,
to the King's horse called Katar, who was very wicked, and quite untamable.
No one had ever been able to ride him; indeed no one could go near him
with safety, he was so savage. Suri said to this horse, "Katar, will you take
care of something that I want to give you, because the King has ordered me
to be killed to-morrow?"

Good," said Katar; "show me what it is." Then Suri brought up the child, and
the horse was delighted with him. "Yes," he said, "I will take the greatest
care of him. Till now no one has been able to ride me, but this child shall ride
me." Then he swallowed the boy, and when he had done so, the cow made
him many salaams, saying, "It is for this boy's sake that I am to die." The
next morning she was taken to the jungle and there killed.

The beautiful boy now lived in the horse's stomach, and he stayed in it for
one whole year. At the end of that time the horse thought, "I will see if this
 144

child is alive or dead." So he brought him up; and then he loved him, and
petted him, and the little prince played all about the stable, out of which the
horse was never allowed to go. Katar was very glad to see the child, who
was now four years old. After be had played for some time, the horse
swallowed him again. At the end of another year, when the boy was five
years old, Katar brought him up again, caressed him, loved him, and let him
play about the stable as he had done a year before. Then the horse
swallowed him again.

But this time the groom had seen all that happened, and when it was
morning, and the King had gone away to his hunting, he went to the four
wicked Queens, and told them all he had seen, and all about the wonderful,
beautiful child that lived inside the King's horse Katar. On hearing the
groom's story the four Queens cried, and tore their hair and clothes, and
refused to eat. When the King returned at evening and asked them why they
were so miserable, they said, "Your horse Katar came and tore our clothes,
and upset all our things, 'and we ran away for fear he should kill us."

"Never mind," said the King. "Only eat your dinner and be happy. I will have
Katar shot to-morrow." Then he thought that two men unaided could not
kill such a wicked horse, so he ordered his servants to bid his troop of
sepoys shoot him.

So the next day the King placed his sepoys all round the stable, and he took
up his stand with them; and he said he would himself shoot any one who let
his horse escape.

Meanwhile the horse had overheard all these orders. So he brought up the
child and said to him, "Go into that little room that leads out of the stable,
and you will find in it a saddle and bridle which you must put on me. Then
you will find in the room some beautiful clothes such as princes wear; these
must you put on yourself; and you must take the sword and gun you will find
there too. Then you must mount on my back."
 145

Now Katar was a fairy-horse, and came from the fairies' country, so he could
get anything he wanted; but neither the King nor any of his people knew
this. When all was ready, Katar burst out of his stable, with the prince on his
back, rushed past the King himself before the King had time to shoot him,
galloped away to the great jungle-plain, and galloped about all over it. The
King saw his horse had a boy on his back, though be could not see the boy
distinctly. The sepoys tried in vain to shoot the horse; he galloped much too
fast; and at last they were all scattered over the plain. Then the King had to
give it up and go home; and the sepoys went to their homes. The King could
not shoot any of his sepoys for letting his horse escape, for he himself had
let him do so.

Then Katar galloped away, on, and on, and oil; and when night came they
stayed under a tree, he and the King's son. The horse ate grass, and the boy
wild fruits which he found in the jungle. Next morning they started afresh,
and went far, and far, till they came to a jungle in another country, which did
 146

not belong to the little prince's father,but to another king. Here Katar said
to the boy, "Now get off my back."
 147

Off jumped the prince. "Unsaddle me and take off my bridle; take off your
beautiful clothes and tie them all up in a bundle with your sword and gun."
This the boy did. Then the horse gave him some poor, common clothes,
which he told him to put on. As soon as he was dressed in them the horse
said, "Hide your bundle in this grass, and I will take care of it for you. I will
always stay in this jungle-plain, so that when you want me you will always
find me. You must now go away and find service with some one in this
country."

This made the boy very sad. I know nothing about anything," he said. "What
shall I do all alone in this country?"

"Do not be afraid," answered Katar. "You will find service, and I will always
stay here to help you when you want me. So go, only before you go, twist
my right ear." The boy did so, and his horse instantly became a donkey.
"Now twist your right ear," said Katar. And when the boy had twisted it, he
was no longer a handsome prince, but a poor, common-looking, ugly man;
and his moon and star were hidden.

Then he went away further into the country, until he came to a grain
merchant of the country, who asked him who he was. "I am a poor man,"
answered the boy, "and I want service." "Good," said the grain merchant,
"you shall be my servant."

Now the grain merchant lived near the King's palace, and one night at
twelve o'clock the boy was very hot; so he went out into the King's cool
garden, and began to sing a lovely song. The seventh and youngest
daughter of the King heard him, and she wondered who it was who could
sing so deliciously. Then she put on her clothes, rolled up her hair, and came
down to where the seemingly poor common man was lying singing. "Who
are you? where do you come from?" she asked.

But he answered nothing.

"Who is this man who does not answer when I speak to him?" thought the
little princess, and she went away. On the second night the same thing
happened, and on the third night too. But on the third night, when she
found she could not make him answer her, she said to him: "What a strange
 148

man you are not to answer me when I speak to you." But still he remained
silent, so she went away.

The next day. when he had finished his work, the young prince went to the
jungle to see his horse, who asked him, "Are you quite well and happy?"
"Yes, I am," answered the boy. "I am servant to a grain merchant. The last
three nights I have gone into the King's garden and sung a song, and each
night the youngest princess has come to me and asked me who I am, and
whence I came, and I have answered nothing. What shall I do now?" The
horse said, "Next time she asks you who you are, tell her you are a very poor
man, and came from your own country to find service here?"

The boy then went home to the grain merchant, and at night, when every
one had gone to bed, he went to the King's garden and sang his sweet song
again. The youngest princess heard him, got up, dressed, and came to him.
"Who are you? Whence do you come?" she asked.

"I am a very poor man," he answered. "I came from my own country to seek
service here, and I am now one of the grain merchant's servants." Then she
went away. For three more nights the boy sang in the King's garden, and
each night the princess came and asked him the same questions as before,
and the boy gave her the same answers.

Then she went to her father, and said to him, "Father, I wish to be married;
but I must choose my husband myself." Her father consented to this, and he
wrote and invited all the Kings and Rajas in the land, saying, "My youngest
daughter wishes to be married, but she insists on choosing her husband
herself. As I do not know who it is she wishes to marry, I beg you will all
come on a certain day, for her to see you and make her choice."

A great many Kings, Rajas, and their sons accepted this invitation and came.
When they had all arrived, the little princess's father said to them, "To-
morrow morning you must all sit together in my garden" (the King's garden
was very large), "for then my youngest daughter will come and see you all,
and choose her husband. I do not know whom she will choose."

The youngest princess ordered a grand elephant to be ready for her the
next morning, and when the morning came, and all was ready, she dressed
 149

herself in the most lovely clothes, and put on her beautiful jewels; then she
mounted her elephant, which was painted blue. In her hand she took a gold
necklace.

Then she went into the garden where the Kings, Rajas, and their sons were
seated. The boy, the grain merchant's servant, was also in the garden: not as
a suitor, but looking on with the other servants.

The princess rode all round the garden, and looked at all the Kings and Rajas
and princes, and then she hung the gold necklace round the neck of the boy,
the grain merchant's servant. At this everybody laughed, and the Kings were
greatly astonished. But then they and the Rajas said, "What fooling is this?"
and they pushed the pretended poor man away, and took the necklace off
his neck, and said to him, "Get out of the way, you poor, dirty man. Your
clothes are far too dirty for you to come near us!" The boy went far away
from them, and stood a long way off to see what would happen.

Then the King's youngest daughter went all round the garden again, holding
her gold necklace in her hand, and once more she hung it round the boy's
neck. Every one laughed at her and said, "How can the King's daughter think
of marrying this poor, common man!" and the Kings and the Rajas, who had
come as suitors, all wanted to turn him out of. the garden. But the princess
said, "Take care! take care! You must not turn him out. Leave him alone."
Then she put him on her elephant, and took him to the palace.

The Kings and Rajas and their sons were very much astonished, and said,
"What does this mean? The princess does not care to marry one of us, but
chooses that very poor man!" Her father then stood up, and said to them all,
I promised my daughter she should marry any one she pleased, and as she
has twice chosen that poor, common man, she shall marry him." And so the
princess and the boy were married with great pomp and splendour: her
father and mother were quite content with her choice; and the Kings, the
Rajas and their sons, all returned to their homes.

Now the princess's six sisters had all married rich princes, and they laughed
at her for choosing such a poor ugly husband as hers seemed to be, and said
to each other, mockingly, "See! our sister has married this poor, common
man!" Their six husbands used to go out hunting every day, and every
 150

evening they brought home quantities of all kinds of game to their wives,
and the game was cooked for their dinner and for the King's; but the
husband of the youngest princess always stayed at home in the palace, and
never went out hunting at all. This made her very sad, and she said to
herself," My sisters' husbands hunt every day, but my husband never hunts
at all."

At last she said to him, "Why do you never go out hunting as my sisters'
husbands do every day, and every day they bring home quantities of all
kinds of game? Why do you always stay at home, instead of doing as they
do?"

One day he said to her, "I am going out to-day to eat the air."

"Very good," she answered; "go, and take one of the horses."

"No," said the young prince, "I will not ride, I will walk." Then he went to the
jungle-plain where he had left Katar, who all this time had seemed to be a
donkey, and he told Katar everything. "Listen," he said; "I have married the
youngest princess; and when we were married everybody laughed at her for
choosing me, and said, 'What a very poor, common man our princess has
chosen for her husband!' Besides, my wife is very sad, for her six sisters'
husbands all hunt every day, and bring home quantities of game, and their
wives therefore are very proud of them. But I stay at home all day, and
never hunt. To-day I should like to hunt very much,"

"Well," said Katar, "then twist my left ear;" and as soon as the boy had
twisted it, Katar was a horse again, and not a donkey any longer. "Now,"
said Katar, "twist your left ear, and you will see what a beautiful young
prince you will become." So the boy twisted his own left ear, and there he
stood no longer a poor, common, ugly man, but a grand young prince with a
moon on his forehead and a star on his chin. Then he put on his splendid
clothes, saddled aud bridled Katar, got on his back with his sword and gun,
and rode off to hunt.

He rode very far, and shot a great many birds and a quantity of deer. That
day his six brothers-in-law could find no game, for the beautiful young prince
had shot it all. Nearly all the day long these six princes wandered about
 151

looking in vain for game; till at last they grew hungry and thirsty, and could
find no water, and they had no food with them. Meanwhile the beautiful
young prince had sat down under a tree, to dine and rest, and there his six
brothers-in-law found him. By his side was some delicious water, and also
some roast meat.

When they saw him the six princes said to each other, "Look at that
handsome prince. He has a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin. We
have never seen such a prince in this jungle before; he must come from
another country." Then they came up to him, and made him many salaams,
and begged him to give them some food and water. "Who are you?" said the
young prince. "We are the husbands of the six elder daughters of the King
of this country," they answered; "and we have hunted all day, and are very
hungry and thirsty." They did not recognise their brother-in-law in the least.

"Well," said the young prince, "I will give you something to eat and drink if
you will do as I bid you." "We will do all you tell us to do," they answered,
"for if we do not get water to drink, we shall die." "Very good," said the
young prince. "Now you must let me put a red-hot pice on the back of each
of you, and then I will give you food and water. Do you agree to this?" The
six princes consented, for they thought, "No one will ever see the mark of
the pice, as it will be covered by our clothes; and we shall die if we have no
water to drink." Then the young prince took six pice, and made them red-
hot in the fire; he laid one on the back of each of the six princes, and gave
them good food and water. They ate and thank; and when they had finished
they made him many salaams and went home.

The young prince stayed under the tree till it was evening; then he mounted
his horse and rode off to the King's palace. All the people looked at him as
he came riding along, saying, "What a splendid young prince that is! He has a
moon on his forehead and a star on his chin." But no one recognised him.
When he came near the King's palace, all the King's servants asked him who
he was; and as none of them knew him, the gate-keepers would not let him
pass in. They all wondered who he could be, and all thought him the most
beautiful prince that had ever been seen.
 152

At last they asked him who he was. "I am the husband of your youngest
princess," he answered.

"No, no, indeed you are not," they said; "for he is a poor, common-looking,
and ugly man."

"But I am he," answered the prince; only no one would believe him.

"Tell us the truth," said the servants; "who are you!"

"Perhaps you cannot recognise me," said the young prince, "but call the
youngest princess here. I wish to speak to her." The servants called her, and
she came. "That man is not my husband," she said at once. "My husband is
not nearly as handsome as that man. This must be a prince from another
country."

Then she said to him, "Who are you? Why do you say you are my husband?"

"Because I am your husband. I am telling you the truth," answered the

young prince.

"No, you are not, you are not telling me the truth," said the little princess.
"My husband is not a handsome man like you.: I married a very poor,
common-looking man."

"That is true," he answered, "but nevertheless I am your husband. I was the

grain merchant's servant; and one hot night I went into your father's garden
and sang, and you heard me, and came and asked me who I was and where I
came from, and I would not answer you. And the same thing happened the
next night, and the next, and on the fourth I told you I was a very poor man,
and had come from my country to seek service in yours, and that I was the
grain merchant's servant. Then you told your father you wished to marry,
but must choose your own husband; and when all the Kings and Rajas were
seated in your father's garden, you sat on an elephant and went round and
looked at them all; and then twice hung your gold necklace round my neck,
and chose me. See, here is your necklace, and here are the ring and the
handkerchief you. gave me on our wedding day."

Then she believed him, and was very glad that her husband was such a
beautiful young prince. "What a strange man you are!" she said to him. "Till
 153

now you have been poor, and ugly, and common-looking. Now you are
beautiful and look like a prince; I never saw such a handsome man as you are
before; and yet I know you must be my husband." Then she worshipped God
and thanked him for letting her have such a husband. "I have," she said, "a
beautiful husband. There is no one like him in this country. He has a moon on
his forehead and a star on his chin." Then she took him into the palace, and
showed him to her father and mother and to every one. They all said they
had never seen any one like him, and were all very happy. And the young
prince lived as before in the King's palace with his wife, and Katar lived in
the King's stables.

One day, when the King and his seven sons-in-law were in his court-house,
and it was full of people, the young prince said to him, "There are six thieves
here in your court-house." "Six thieves!" said the King. "Where are they?
Show them to me." "There they are," said the young prince, pointing to his
six brothers-in-law. The King and every one else in the court-house were
very much astonished, and would not believe the young prince. "Take off
their coats," he said, "and then you will see for yourselves that each of them
has the mark of a thief on his back." So their coats were taken off the six
princes, and the King and everybody in the court-house saw the mark of the
red-hot pice. The six princes were very much ashamed, but the young prince
was very glad. He had not forgotten how his brothers-in-law had laughed at
him and mocked him when he seemed a poor, common man.

Now, when Katar was still in the jungle, before the prince was married, be
had told the boy the whole story of his birth, and all that had happened to
him and his mother. "When you are married," he said to him, "I will take you
back to your father's country." So two months after the young prince had
revenged himself on his brothers-in-law, Katar said to him, "It is time for you
to return to your father. Get the King to let you go to your own country, and
I will tell you what to do when we get there."

The prince always did, what his horse told him to do; so he went to his wife
and said to her, "I wish very much to go to my own country to see my father
and mother." "Very well," said his wife; "I will tell my father and mother, and
ask them to let us go." Then she went to them, and told them, and they
consented to let her and her husband leave them. The King gave his
 154

daughter and the young prince a great many horses, and elephants, and all
sorts of presents, and also a great many sepoys to guard them. In this grand
state they travelled to the prince's country, which was not a great many
miles off. When they reached it they pitched their tents on the same plain in
which the prince had been left in his box by the nurse, where Shankar and
Suri had swallowed him so often.

When the King, his father, the gardener's daughter's husband, saw the
prince's camp, he was very much alarmed, and thought a great King had
come to make war on him. He sent one of his servants, therefore, to ask
whose camp it was. The young prince then wrote him a letter, in which he
said, "You are a great King. Do not fear me. I am not come to make war on
you. I am as if I were your son. I am a prince who has come to see your
country and to speak with you. I wish to give you a grand feast, to which
every one in your country must come--men and women, old and young, rich
and poor, of all castes; all the children, fakirs, and sepoys. You must bring
them all here to me for a week, and I will feast them all."

The King was delighted with this letter, and ordered all the men, women,
and children of all castes, fakirs, and sepoys, in his country to go to the
prince's camp to a grand feast the prince would give them. So they all came,
and the King brought his four wives too. All came, at least all but the
gardener's daughter. No one had told her to go to the feast, for no one had
thought of her.

When all the people were assembled, the prince saw his mother was not
there, and he asked the King, "Has every one in your country come to my
feast?"

"Yes, every one," said the King.

"Are you sure of that?" asked the prince.

"Quite sure," answered the King.

"I am sure one woman has not come," said the prince. "She is your
gardener's daughter, who was once your wife and is now a servant in your
palace."
 155

"True," said the King, "I had forgotten her." Then the prince told his
servants to take his finest palanquin and to fetch the gardener's daughter.
They were to bathe her, dress her in beautiful clothes and handsome jewels,
and then bring her to him in the palanquin.

While the servants were bringing the gardener's daughter, the King thought
how handsome the young prince was; and he noticed particularly the moon
on his forehead and' the star on his chin, and he wondered in what country
the young prince was born.

And now the palanquin arrived bringing the gardener's daughter, and the
young prince went himself and took her out of it, and brought her into the
tent. He made her a great many salaams. The four wicked wives looked on
and were very much surprised and very angry. They remembered that, when
they arrived, the prince had made them no salaams, and since then had not
taken the least notice of them; whereas he could not do enough for the
gardener's daughter, and seemed very glad to see her.

When they were all at dinner, the prince again made the gardener's
daughter a great many salaams, and gave her food from all the nicest
dishes. She wondered at his kindness to her, and thought, "Who is this
handsome prince, with a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin? I
never saw any one so beautiful.. What country does be come from?"

Two or three days were thus passed in feasting; and all that time the King
and his people were talking about the prince's beauty, and wondering who
he was.

One day the prince asked the King if he had any children., "None," he
answered.

"Do you know who I am?" asked the prince.

"No," said the King. "Tell me who you are."

"I am your son," answered the prince, "and the gardener's daughter is my
mother."

The King shook his head sadly. "How can you be my son," he said, "when I
have never had any children?"
 156

"But I am your son," answered the prince. "Your four wicked Queens told
you the gardener's daughter had given you a stone and not a son; but it was
they who put the stone in my little bed, and then they tried to kill me."

The King did not believe him. "I wish you were my son," he said; "but as I
never had a child, you cannot be my son." "Do you remember your dog
Shankar, and how you had him killed? And do you remember your cow Suri,
and how you had her killed too? Your wives made you kill them because of
me. And," he said, taking the King to Katar, "do you know whose horse that
is?"

The King looked at Katar, and then said, "That is my horse Katar." "Yes," said
the prince. "Do you not remember how he rushed past you out of his stable
with me on his back?" Then Katar told the King the prince was really his son,
and told him all the story of his birth, and of his life up to that moment; and
when the King found the beautiful prince was indeed his son, he was so
glad, so glad. He put his arms round him and kissed him and cried for joy.

"Now," said the King, "you must come with me to my palace, and live with
me always."

"No," said the prince, "that I cannot do. I cannot go to your palace. I only
came here to fetch my mother; and now that I have found her, I will take her
with me to my father-in-law's palace. I have married a King's daughter, and
we live with her father."

"But now that I have found you, I cannot let you go," said his father. "You
and your wife must come and live with your mother and me in my palace."

"That we will never do," said the prince, "unless you will kill your four
wicked Queens with your own hand. If you will do that, we will come and
live with you."

So the King killed his Queens, and' then he and his wife, the gardener's
daughter, and the prince and his wife, all went to live in the King's palace,
and lived there happily together for ever after; and the King thanked God
for giving him such a beautiful son, and for ridding him of his four wicked
wives.
 157

Katar did not return to the fairies' country, but stayed always with the
young prince, and never left him.
 158

THE PRINCE AND THE FAKIR

THERE was once upon a time a King who had no children. Now this King
went and laid him down to rest at a place where four roads met, so that
every one who passed had to step over him.

At last a Fakir came along, and he said to the King, "Man, why are you lying
here?"

He replied, "Fakir, a thousand men have come and passed by; you pass on
too."

But the Fakir said, "Who are you, man?"

The King replied, "I am a King, Fakir. Of goods and gold I have no lack, but I
have lived long and have no children. So I have come here, and have laid me
down at the cross-roads. My sins and offences have been very many, so I
have come and am lying here that men may pass over me, and perchance
my sins may be forgiven me, and God may he merciful, and I may have a
son."

The Fakir answered him, " O King! If you have children, what will you give
me?"

"Whatever you ask, Fakir," answered the King.

The Fakir said, "Of goods and gold I have no lack, but I will say a prayer for
you, and you will have two sons; one of those sons will be mine."

Then he took out two sweetmeats and handed them to the King, and said,
"King! take these two sweetmeats and give them to your wives; give them
to the wives you love best."

The King took the sweetmeats and put them in his bosom.

Then the Fakir said, "King! in a year I will return, and of the two sons who
will be born to you one is mine and one yours."

The King said, "Well, I agree."

 159

Then the Fakir went on his way, and the King came home and gave one
sweetmeat to each of his two wives. After some time two sons were born to
the King. Then what did the King do but place those two sons in an
underground room, which he had built in the earth.

Some time passed, and one day the Fakir appeared, and said, "King! bring
me that son of yours!"

What did the King do but bring two slave-girls' sons and present them to the
Fakir. While the Fakir was sitting there the King's sons were sitting down
 160

below in their cellar eating their food. Just then a hungry ant had carried
away a grain of rice from their food, and was going along with it to her
children. Another stronger ant came up and attacked her in order to get this
grain of rice. The first ant said "O ant, why do you drag this away from me? I
have long been lame in my feet, and I have got just one grain, and am
carrying it to my children. The King's sons are sitting in the cellar eating their
food; you go and fetch a grain from there; why should you take mine from
me?" On this the second ant let go and did not rob the first, but went off to
where the King's sons were eating their food.

On hearing this the Fakir said, "King! these are not your sons; go and bring
those children who are eating their food in the cellar."

Then the King went and brought his own sons. The Fakir chose the eldest
son and took him away, and set off with him on his journey. When he got
home he told the King's son to go out to gather fuel.

So the King's son went out to gather cow-dung, and when be had collected
some he brought it in.

Then the Fakir looked at the King's son and put on a great pot, and said,
"Come round here, my pupil."

But the King's son said, "Master first, and pupil after." The Fakir told him to
come once, he told him twice, he told him three times, and each time the
King's son answered, "Master first, and pupil after."

Then the Fakir made a dash at the King's son, thinking to catch him and
throw him into the caldron. There were about a hundred gallons of oil in this
caldron, and the fire was burning beneath it. Then the King's son, lifting the
Fakir, gave him a jerk and threw him into the caldron, and he was burnt, and
became roast meat. He then saw a key of the Fakir's lying there; he took this
key and opened the door of the Fakir's house. Now many men were locked
up in this house; two horses were standing there in a hut of the Fakir's; two
greyhounds were tied up there; two simurgs were imprisoned, and two
tigers also stood there. So the King's son let all the creatures go, and took
them out of the house, and they all returned thanks to God. Next he let out
all the men who were in prison. He took away with him the two horses, and
 161

he took away the two tigers, and he took away the two hounds, and he took
away the two simurgs, and with them be set out for another country.

As he went along the road he saw above him a bald man, grazing a herd of
calves, and this bald man called out to him, "Fellow! can you fight at all?"

The King's son replied, "When I was little I could fight a bit, and now, if any
one wants to fight, I am not so unmanly as to turn my back. Come, I will fight
you."

The bald man said, "If I throw you, you shall be my slave; and if you throw
me, I will be your slave." So they got ready and began to fight, and the
King's son threw him.

On this the King's son said, "I will leave my beasts here my simurgs, tigers,
and dogs, and horses; they will all stay here while I go to the city to see the
sights. I appoint the tiger as guard over my property. And you are my slave;
you, too, must stay here with my belongings." So the King's son started off
to the city to see the sights, and arrived at a pool.

He saw that it was a pleasant pool, and thought he would stop and bathe
there, and therewith he began to strip off his clothes.

Now the King's daughter, who was sitting on the roof of the palace, saw his
royal marks, and she said, "This man is a king; when I marry, I will marry him
and no other." So she said to her father, "My father; I wish to marry."

"Good," said her father.

Then the King made a proclamation: "Let all men, great and small, attend to-
day in the hall of audience, for the King's daughter will to-day take a
husband."

All the men of the land assembled, and the traveller Prince also came,
dressed in the Fakir's clothes, saying to himself, "I must see this ceremony
to-day." He went in and sat down.

The King's daughter came out and sat in the balcony, and cast her glance
round all the assembly. She noticed that the traveller Prince was sitting in
the assembly in Fakir's attire.
 162

The Princess said to her handmaiden, "Take this dish of henna, go to that
traveller dressed like a Fakir, and sprinkle scent on him from the dish."

The handmaiden obeyed the Princess's order, went to him, and sprinkled
the scent over him.

Then the people said, "The slave-girl has made a mistake."

But she replied, "The slave-girl has made no mistake, 'tis her mistress has
made the mistake."

On this the King married his daughter to the Fakir, who was really no Fakir,
but a Prince.

What fate had decreed came to pass in that country, and they were married.
But the King of that city became very sad in his heart, because when so
many chiefs and nobles were sitting there his daughter had chosen none of
them, but had chosen that Fakir; but he kept these thoughts concealed in
his heart.

One day the traveller Prince said, "Let all the King's sons-in-law come out
with me to-day to hunt."

People said, "What is this Fakir that he should go a-hunting?"

However, they all set out for the hunt, and fixed their meeting-place at a
certain pool.

The newly-married Prince went to his tigers, and told his tigers and hounds
to kill and bring in a great number of gazelles and hog-deer and markhor.
Instantly they killed and brought in a great number. Then taking with him
these spoils of the chase, the Prince came to the pool settled on as a
meeting-place. The other Princes; sons-in-law of the King of that city, also
assembled there; but they had brought in no game, and the new Prince bad
brought a great deal. Thence they returned home to the town, and went to
the King, their father-in-law, to present their game.

Now that King had no son. Then the new Prince told him that in fact he, too,
was a Prince. At this the King, his father-in-law, was greatly delighted and
took him by the hand and embraced him. He seated him by himself, saying,
 163

"O Prince, I return thanks that you have come here and become my son-in-
law; I am very happy at this, and I make over my kingdom to you."
 164

WHY THE FISH LAUGHED

AS a certain fisherwoman passed by a palace crying her fish, the Queen

appeared at one of the windows and beckoned her to come near and show
what she had. At that moment a very big fish jumped about in the bottom of
the basket.

"Is it a he or a she?" inquired the Queen. "I wish to purchase a she-fish."

On hearing this the fish laughed aloud.

"It's a he," replied the fisherwoman, and proceeded on her rounds.

The Queen returned to her room in a great rage; and on coming to see her in
the evening, the King noticed that something had disturbed her.

"Are you indisposed?" he said.

"No; but I am very much annoyed at the strange behaviour of a fish. A

woman brought me one to-day, and on my inquiring whether it was a male
or female, the fish laughed most rudely."

"A fish laugh! Impossible! You must be dreaming."

 165

"I am not a fool. I speak of what I have seen with my own eyes and have
heard with my own ears."

"Passing strange! Be it so. I will inquire, concerning it."

On the morrow the King repeated to his vizier what his wife had told him,
and bade him investigate the matter, and be ready with a satisfactory
answer within six months, on pain of death. The vizier promised to do his
best, though he felt almost certain of failure. For five months he laboured
indefatigably to find a reason for the laughter of the fish. He sought
everywhere and from every one. The wise and learned, and they who were
skilled in magic and in all manner of trickery, were consulted. Nobody,
however, could explain the matter; and so he returned broken-hearted to
his house, and began to arrange his affairs in prospect of certain death, for
he had had sufficient experience of the King to know that his Majesty would
not go back from his threat. Amongst other things, he advised his son to
travel for a time, until the King's anger should have somewhat cooled.

The young fellow, who was both clever and handsome, started off
whithersoever Kismat might lead him. He had been gone some days, when
he fell in with an old farmer, who also was on a journey to a certain village.
Finding the old man very pleasant, he asked him if he might accompany him,
professing to be on a visit to the same place. The old farmer agreed, and
they walked along together. The day was hot, and the way was long and
weary.

"Don't you think it would be pleasanter if you and I sometimes gave one
another a lift?" said the youth.

"What a fool the man is!" thought the old farmer.

Presently they passed through a field of corn ready for the sickle, and
looking like a sea of gold as it waved to and fro in the breeze.

"Is this eaten or not?" said the young man.

Not understanding his meaning, the old man replied, "I don't know."
 166

After a little while the two travellers arrived at a big village, where the young
man gave his companion a clasp-knife, and said, "Take this, friend, and get
two horses with it; "but, mind and bring it back, for it is very precious."

The old man, looking half amused and half angry, pushed back the knife,
muttering something to the effect that his friend was either a fool himself or
else trying to play the fool with him. The young man pretended not to notice
his reply, and remained almost silent till they reached the city, a short
distance outside which Was the old farmer's house. They walked about the
bazar and went to the mosque, but nobody saluted them or invited them to
come in and rest.

"What a large cemetery!" exclaimed the young man.

"What does the man mean," thought 'the old farmer, "calling this largely
populated city a cemetery?"

On leaving the city their way led through a cemetery. where a few people
were praying beside a grave and distributing chapatis and kulchas to
passers-by, in the name of their beloved dead. They beckoned to the two
travellers and gave them as much as they would.

"What a splendid city this is!" said the young man.

"Now, the man must surely be demented!" thought the old farmer. "I
wonder what he will do, next? He will be calling the land water, and the
water land; and be speaking of light where there is darkness, and of
darkness when it is light." However, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Presently, they had to wade through a stream that ran along the edge of the
cemetery. The water was rather deep, so the old farmer took off his shoes
and paijamas and crossed over; but the young man waded through it with
his shoes and paijamas on.

"Well! I never did see such a perfect fool, both in word and in deed," said the
old man to, himself.

However, he liked the fellow; and thinking that he would amuse his wife and
daughter, he invited him to come and stay at his house as long as he had
occasion to remain in the village.
 167

"Thank you very much," the young man replied; "but let me first inquire, if
you please, whether the beam of your house is strong."

The old farmer left him in despair, and entered his house laughing.

"There is a man in yonder field," he said, after returning their greetings. "He
has come the greater part of the way with me, and I wanted him to put up
here as long as he had to stay in this village. But the fellow is such a fool that
I cannot make anything out of him. He wants to know if the beam of this
house is all right. The man must be mad!" and saying this, he burst into a fit
of laughter.

"Father," said the farmer's daughter, who was a very sharp and wise girl,
"this man, whosoever he is, is no fool, as you deem him. He only wishes to
know if you can afford to entertain him."

"Oh! of course," replied, the farmer. "I see. Well, perhaps you can help me to
solve some of his other mysteries. While we were walking together he asked
whether he should carry me or I should carry him, as he thought that would
be a pleasanter mode of proceeding."

"Most assuredly," said the girl. "He meant that one of you should tell a story
to beguile the time."

"Oh yes. Well, we were passing through a corn-field, when he asked me

whether it was eaten or not."

"And didn't you know the meaning of this, father? He simply wished to know
if the man was in debt or not; because, if the owner of the field was in debt,
then the produce of the field was as good as eaten to him; that is, it would
have to go to his creditors."

"Yes, yes, yes, of course! Then, on entering a certain village, he bade me

take his clasp-knife and get two horses with it, and bring back the knife
again to him."

"Are not two stout sticks as good as two horses for helping one along on
the road? He only asked you to cut a couple of sticks and be careful not to
lose his knife."
 168

"I see," said the farmer. "While we were walking over the city we did not
.see anybody that we knew, and not a soul gave us a scrap of anything to
eat, till we were passing the cemetery; but there some people called to us
and put into our hands some chapatis and kulchas; so my companion called
the city a cemetery, and the cemetery a city."

This also is to be understood, father, if one thinks of the city as the place
where everything is to be obtained, and of inhospitable people as worse
than the dead. The city, though crowded with people, was as if dead, as far
as you were concerned; while, in the cemetery, which is crowded with the
dead, you were saluted by kind friends and provided with bread."

"True, true!" said' the astonished farmer. "Then, just now, when we were
crossing the stream, he waded through it without taking off his shoes and
paijamas."

"I admire his wisdom," replied the girl. "I have often thought how stupid
people were to venture into that swiftly flowing stream and over those
sharp stones with bare feet. The slightest stumble and they would fall, and
be wetted from head to foot. This friend of yours is a most wise man. I
should like to see him and speak to him."

"Very well," said the farmer; "I will go and find him, and bring him in."

"Tell him, father, that our beams are strong enough, and then he will come
in. I'll send on, ahead a present to the man, to show him that we can afford
to have him for our guest."

Accordingly she called a servant and sent him to the young man with a
present of a basin of ghee, twelve chapatis, and a jar of milk, and the
following message:--" O friend, the moon is full; twelve months make a year,
and the sea is overflowing with water."

Half-way the bearer of this present and message met his little son, who,
seeing what was in the basket, begged his father to give him some of the
food. His father foolishly complied. Presently he saw the young man, and
gave him the rest of the present and the message.
 169

"Give your mistress my salaam," he replied, "and tell her that the moon is
new, and that I can only find eleven months in the year, and the sea is by no
means full."

Not understanding the meaning of these words, the servant repeated them
word for word, as he had heard them, to his mistress; and thus his theft was
discovered, and he was severely punished. After a little while the young man
appeared with the old farmer. Great attention was shown to him, and he
was treated in every way as if he were the son of a great man, although his
humble host knew nothing of his origin. At length be told them everything--
about the laughing of the fish, his father's threatened execution, and his
own banishment--and asked their advice as to what he should do.

"The laughing of the fish," said the girl, "which seems to have been the
cause of all this trouble, indicates that there is a man in the palace who is
plotting against the King's life."

"Joy, joy!" exclaimed the vizier's son. "There is yet time for me to return and
save my father from an ignominious and unjust death, and the King from
danger."

The following day be hastened back to his own country, taking with him the
farmer's daughter. Immediately on arrival he ran to the palace and informed
his father of what he had heard. The poor vizier, now almost dead from the
expectation of death, was at once carried to the King, to whom be repeated
the news that his son had just brought.

"Never!" said the King.

"But it must be, so, your Majesty," replied the vizier; "and in order to prove
the truth of what I have heard, I pray you to call together all the maids in
your palace, and order them to jump over a pit, which must be dug. We'll
soon find out whether there is any man there."
 170

The King had the pit dug, and commanded all the maids belonging to the
palace to try to jump it. All of them tried, but only one succeeded. That one
was found to be a man!

Thus was the Queen satisfied, and the faithful old vizier saved.

Afterwards, as soon as could be, the vizier's son married the old farmer's
daughter and a most happy marriage it was.
 171

THE DEMON WITH THE MATTED HAIR

THIS story the Teacher told in Jetavana about a Brother who had ceased
striving after' righteousness. Said the Teacher to him: "Is it really true that you
have ceased all striving? "--"Yes, Blessed One," he replied. Then the Teacher
said: " O Brother, in former days wise men made effort in the place where
effort should be made, and so attained unto royal power." And he told a story
of long ago.

Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was King of Benares, the Bodhisatta
was born as son of his chief queen. On his name-day they asked 800
Brahmans, having satisfied them with all their desires, about his lucky marks.
The Brahmans who had skill in divining from such marks beheld the
excellence of his, and made answer:

"Full of goodness, great King, is your son, and when you die he will become
king; he shall be famous and renowned for his skill with the five weapons,
and shall be the chief man in all India. On hearing what the Brahmans had to
say, they gave him the name of the Prince of the Five Weapons, sword,
spear, bow, battle-axe, and shield.

When he came to years of discretion, and had attained the measure of

sixteen years, the King said to him:

"My son, go and complete your education."

"Who shall be my teacher?" the lad asked.

"Go, my son; in the kingdom of Candahar, in the city of Takkasila, is a far-

famed teacher from whom I wish you to learn. Take this, and give it him for
a fee." With that he gave him a thousand pieces of money, and dismissed
him.

The lad departed and was educated by this teacher; he received the Five
Weapons from him as a gift, bade him farewell, and leaving Takkasila, he
began his journey to Benares, armed with the Five Weapons.
 172

On his way he came to a forest inhabited by the Demon with the Matted
Hair. At the entering of the forest some men saw him, and cried out:

"Hullo, young sir, keep clear of that wood! There's a Demon in it called he of
the Matted Hair: he kills every man he sees!" And they tried to stop him. But
the Bodhisatta, having confidence in himself, went straight on, fearless as a
maned lion.
 173

When he reached mid-forest the Demon showed himself. He made himself

as tall as a palm-tree; his head was the size of a pagoda, his eyes as big as
saucers, and he had two tusks all over knobs and bulbs; he had the face of a
hawk, a variegated belly, and blue hands and feet.

"Where are you going?" he shouted. "Stop! You'll make a meal for me!"

Said the Bodhisatta: "Demon, I came here trusting in myself. I advise you to
be careful how you come near me. Here's a poisoned arrow, which I'll shoot
at you and knock you down!" With this menace, he fitted to his bow an
arrow dipped in deadly poison, and let fly. The arrow stuck fast in the
Demon's hair. Then he shot and shot, till he had shot away fifty arrows; and
they all stuck in the Demon's hair. The Demon snapped them all off short,
and threw them down at his feet; then came up to the Bodhisatta, who
drew his sword and struck the Demon, threatening him the while. His sword-
-it was three-and-thirty inches long--stuck in the Demon's hair! The
Bodhisatta struck him with his spear--that stuck too! He struck him with his
club--and that stuck too!

When the Bodhisatta saw that this had stuck fast, he addressed the Demon.
"You, Demon!" said he, "did you never hear of me before--the Prince of the
Five Weapons? When I came into the forest which you live in I did not trust
to my bow and other weapons: This day will I pound you and grind you to
powder!" Thus did he declare his resolve, and with a shout he hit at the
Demon with his right hand. It stuck fast in his hair! He hit him with his left
hand--that stuck too!' With his right foot he kicked him--that stuck too; then
with his left--and that stuck too! Then he butted at him with his head, crying,
"I'll pound you to powder! " and his head stuck fast like the rest.

Thus the Bodhisatta was five times snared, caught fast in five places,
hanging suspended: yet he felt no fear--was not even nervous.

Thought the Demon to himself: "Here's a lion of a man! A noble man! More
than man is he! Here he is, caught by a Demon like me; yet he will not fear a
bit. Since I have ravaged this road, I never saw such a man. Now, why is it
that he does not fear?" He was powerless to eat the man, but asked him:
"Why is it, young sir, that you are not frightened to death?"
 174

"Why should I fear, Demon?" replied he. "In one life a man can die but once.
Besides, in my belly is a thunderbolt; if you eat me, you will never be able to
digest it; this will tear your inwards into little bits, and kill you: so we shall
both perish. That is why I fear nothing." (By this, the Bodhisatta meant the
weapon of knowledge which he had within him.)

When he heard this, the Demon thought: "This young man speaks the truth.
A piece of the flesh of such a lion-man as he would be too much for me to
digest, if it were no bigger than a kidney-bean. I'll let him go!" So, being
frightened to death, he let go the Bodhisatta, saying:

"Young sir, you are a lion of a man! I will not eat you up. I set you free from
my hands, as the moon is disgorged from the jaws of Rahu after the eclipse.
Go back to the company of your friends and relations!"

And the Bodhisatta said: "Demon, I will go, as you say. You were born a
Demon, cruel, blood-bibbing, devourer of the flesh and gore of others,
because you did wickedly in former lives. If you still go on doing wickedly,
you will go from darkness to darkness. But now that you have seen me you
will find it impossible to do wickedly. Taking the life of living creatures
causes birth, as an animal, in the world of Petas, or, in the body of an Asura,
or, if one is reborn as a man, it makes his life short." With -this and the like
monition he told him the disadvantage of the five kinds of wickedness, and
the profit of the five kinds of virtue, and frightened the Demon in various
ways, discoursing to him until he subdued him and made him self-denying,
and established him in the five kinds of virtue; he made him worship the
deity to whom offerings were made in that wood; and having carefully
admonished him, departed out of it.

At the entrance of the forest he told all to the people thereabout; and went
on to Benares, armed with his five weapons. Afterwards he became king,
and ruled righteously; and after giving alms and doing good he passed away
according to his deeds.

And the Teacher, when this tale was ended, became perfectly enlightened, and
repeated this verse:
 175

Whose mind and heart from all desire is free,

Who seeks for peace by living virtuously,
He in due time will sever all the bonds
That bind him fast to life, and cease to be.

Thus the Teacher reached the summit, through sainthood and the teaching of
the law, and thereupon he declared the Four Truths. At the end of the
declaring of the Truths, this Brother also attained to sainthood. Then the
Teacher made the connexion, and gave the key to the birth-tale, saying: "At
that time Angulimala was the Demon, but the, Prince of the Five Weapons was
I myself."
 176

THE IVORY CITY AND ITS FAIRY PRINCESS

ONE day a young prince was out practicing archery with the son of his
father's chief vizier, when one of the arrows accidentally struck the wife of a
merchant, who was walking about in an upper room' of a house close by.
The prince aimed at a bird that was perched on the window-sill of that room,
and had not the slightest idea that anybody was at hand, or he would not
have shot in that direction. Consequently, not knowing what had happened,
he and the vizier's son walked away, the vizier's son chaffing him because he
had missed the bird.

Presently the merchant went to ask his wife about something, and found
her lying, to all appearance, dead in the middle of the room, and an arrow
fixed in the ground within half a yard of her head. Supposing that she was
dead, he rushed to the window and shrieked, "Thieves, thieves! They have
 177

killed my wife." The neighbours quickly gathered, and the servants came
running upstairs to see what was the matter. It happened that the woman
had fainted, and that there was only a very slight wound in her breast where
the arrow had grazed.

As soon as the woman recovered her senses she told them that two young
men had passed by the place with their bows and arrows, and that one of
them had most deliberately aimed at her as she stood by the window.

On hearing this the merchant went to the King, and told him what had taken
place. His Majesty was much enraged at such audacious wickedness, and
swore that most terrible punishment should be visited on the offender if he
could be discovered. He ordered the merchant to go back and ascertain
whether his wife could recognise the young men if she saw them again.

"Oh yes," replied the woman, I should know them again among all the
people in the city."

"Then," said the King, when the merchant brought back this reply, "to-
morrow I will cause all the male inhabitants of this city to pass before your
house, and your wife will stand at the window and watch for the man who
did this wanton deed."

A royal proclamation was issued to this effect. So the next day all the men
and boys of the city, from the age of ten years upwards, assembled and
marched by the house of the merchant. By chance (for they both had been
excused from obeying this order) the King's son and the vizier's son were
also in the company, and passed by in the crowd. They came to see the
tamasha.

As soon as these two appeared in front of the merchant's window they

were recognised by the merchant's wife, and at once reported to the King.

"My own son and the son of my chief vizier!" exclaimed the King, who had
been present from the commencement. "What examples for the people! Let
them both be executed."
 178

"Not so, your Majesty," said the vizier, "I beseech you. Let the facts of the
case be thoroughly investigated. How is it?" he continued, turning to the
two young men. "Why have you done this cruel thing?"

"I shot an arrow at a bird that was sitting on the sill of an open window in
yonder house, and missed," answered the prince. "I suppose the arrow
struck the merchant's wife. Had I known that she or anybody had been near
I should not have shot in that direction."

"We will speak of this later on," said the King, on hearing this answer.
"Dismiss the people. Their presence is no longer needed."

In the evening his Majesty and the vizier had a long and earnest talk about
their two sons. The King wished both of them to be executed, but the vizier
suggested that the prince should be banished from the country. This was
finally agreed to.

Accordingly, on the following morning, a little company of soldiers escorted

the prince out of the city. When they reached the last custom-house the
vizier's son overtook them. He had come with all haste, bringing with him
four bags of muhrs on four horses. "I am come," he said, throwing his. arms
round the prince's neck, "because I cannot let you go alone. We have lived
together, we will be exiled together, and we will die together. Turn me not
back, if you love me."

"Consider," the prince answered, "what you are doing; All kinds of trial may
be before me. Why should you leave your home and country to be with
me?"

"Because I love you," he said, "and shall never be happy without you."

So the two friends walked along hand in hand as fast as they could to get
out of the country, and behind them marched the soldiers and the horses
with their valuable burdens. On reaching a place on the borders of the
King's dominions the prince gave the soldiers some gold, and ordered them
to return. The soldiers took the money and left; they did not, however, go
very far, but hid themselves behind rocks and stones, and waited till they
were quite sure that the prince did not intend to come back.
 179

On and on the exiles walked, till they arrived at a certain village, where they
determined to spend the night under one of the big trees of the place. The
prince made preparations for a fire, and arranged the few articles of
bedding that they had with them, while the vizier's son went to the baniya
and the baker and the butcher to get something for their dinner. For some
reason he was delayed; perhaps the tsut was not quite ready, or the baniya
had not got all the spices prepared. After waiting half an hour the prince
became impatient, and rose up and walked about.

He saw a pretty, clear little brook running along not far from their resting-
place, and hearing that its source was not far distant, he started off to find
it. The source was a beautiful lake, which at that time was covered with the
magnificent lotus flower and other water plants. The prince sat down on the
bank, and being thirsty took up, some of the water in his hand. Fortunately
he looked into his hand before drinking, and there, to his great
astonishment, he saw reflected whole and clear the image of a beautiful
fairy. He looked round, hoping to see the reality; but seeing no person, he
drank the water, and put out his hand to take some more. Again he saw the
reflection in the water which was in his palm. He looked around as before,
and this time discovered a fairy sitting by the bank on the opposite side of
the lake. On seeing her he fell so madly in love with her that he dropped
down in a swoon.

When the vizier's son returned, and found the fire lighted, the horses
securely fastened, and the bags of muhrs lying altogether in a heap, but no
prince, he did not know what to think. He waited a little while, and then
shouted; but not getting any reply, he got up and went to the brook. There
he came across the footmarks of his friend. Seeing these, he went back at
once for the money and the horses, and bringing them with him, he tracked
the prince to the lake, where be found him lying to all appearance dead.

"Alas! alas!" he cried, and lifting up the prince, be poured some water over
his head and face. "Alas! 'my brother, what is 'this? Oh! do not die and leave
me thus. Speak, speak! I cannot bear this!"

In a few minutes the prince, revived by the water, opened his eyes, and
looked about wildly.
 180

"Thank God!" exclaimed the. vizier's son. "But what is the matter, brother?"

"Go away," replied the prince. "I don't want to say anything to you, or to see
you. Go away."

"Come, come; let us leave this place. Look, I have brought some food for
you, and horses, and everything. Let us eat and depart."

"Go alone," replied the prince.

"Never," said the, vizier's son. "What has happened to suddenly estrange
you from me? A little while ago we were brethren, but now you detest the
sight of me."

"I have looked upon a fairy," the prince said. "But a moment I saw her face;
for when she noticed that I was looking at her she covered her face with
lotus petals. Oh, how beautiful she was! And while I gazed she took out of
her bosom an ivory box, and held it up to me. Then I fainted. Oh! if you can
get me that fairy for my wife, I will go anywhere with you."

"Oh, brother," said the vizier's son, "you have indeed seen a fairy. She is a
fairy of the fairies. This is none other than Gulizar of the Ivory City. I know
this from the signs that she gave you. From her covering her face with lotus,
petals I learn her name, and from her showing you the ivory box, I learn
where she lives. Be patient, and rest assured that I will arrange your
marriage with her."

When the prince beard these encouraging words he felt much comforted,
rose up, and ate, and then went away gladly with his friend.

On the way they met two men. These two men belonged to a family of
robbers. There were eleven of them altogether. One, an elder sister, stayed
at home and cooked the food, and the other ten--all brothers--went out, two
and two, and walked about the four different ways that ran through that
part of the country, robbing those travellers who could not resist them, and
inviting others, who were too powerful for two of, them to manage, to
come and rest at their house, where the whole family attacked them and
stole their goods. These thieves lived in a kind of tower, which had several
 181

strong-rooms in it, and under it was a great pit, wherein they threw the
corpses of the poor unfortunates who chanced to fall into their power.

The two men came forward, and, politely accosting them, begged them to
come and stay at their house for the night. "It is late," they said, "and there
is not another village within several miles."

"Shall we accept this good man's invitation, brother?" asked the prince.

The vizier's son frowned slightly in token of disapproval; but the prince was
tired, and thinking that it was only a whim of his friend's, he said to the men,
" Very well. It is very kind of you to ask us."

So they all four went to the robbers' tower.

Seated in a room, with the door fastened on the outside, the two travellers
bemoaned their fate.

"It is no good groaning," said the' vizier's son. "I will climb to the window,
and see whether, there are any means of escape. Yes! yes!" he whispered,
when he had reached the window-hole. "Below there is a ditch surrounded
by a high wall. I will jump down and reconnoitre. You stay here and wait till I
return."

Presently he came back and told the prince that he had seen a most ugly
woman, whom he supposed was the robbers' housekeeper. She had agreed
to release them on the promise of her marriage with the prince.

So the woman led the way out of the enclosure by a secret door.

"But where are the horses and the goods?" the vizier's son inquired.

"You cannot bring them," the woman said. "To go out by any other way
would be to thrust oneself into the grave."

"All right then; they also shall go out by this door. I have a charm, whereby I
can make them thin or fat." So the vizier's son fetched the horses without
any person knowing it, and repeating the charm, he made them pass
through the narrow doorway like pieces of cloth, and when they were all
outside restored them to their former condition. He at once mounted his
hone and laid hold of the halter of one of the other horses, and then
 182

beckoning to the prince to do likewise, he rode off. The prince saw his
opportunity, and in a moment was riding after him, having the woman
behind him.

Now the robbers heard the galloping of the horses, and ran out and shot
their arrows at the prince and his companions. And one of the arrows killed
the woman, so they had to leave her behind.

On, on they rode, until they reached a village where they stayed the night.
The following morning they were off again, and asked for Ivory City from
every passer-by. At length they came to this famous city, and put up at a
little hut that belonged to an old woman, from whom they feared no harm,
and with whom, therefore, they could abide in peace and comfort. At first
the old woman did not like the idea of these travellers staying in her house,
but the sight of a muhr, which the prince dropped in the bottom of a cup in
which she had given him water, and a present of another muhr from the
vizier's son, quickly made her change her mind. She agreed to let them stay
there for a few days.

As soon as her work was over the old woman came and sat down with her
lodgers. The vizier's son pretended to be utterly ignorant of the place and
people. "Has this city a name?" he asked the old woman.

"Of course it has, you stupid. Every little village, much more a city, and such
a city as this, has a name."

"What is the name of this city?"

"Ivory City. Don't you know that? I thought the name was known all over the
world."

On the mention of the name Ivory City the prince gave a deep sigh. The
vizier's son looked as much as to say, "Keep quiet, or you'll discover the
secret."

"Is there a king of this country?" continued the vizier's son.

"Of course there is, and a queen, and a princess."

"What are their names?"

 183

"The name of the princess is Gulizar, and the name of the queen--"

The vizier's son interrupted the old woman by turning to look at the prince,
who was staring like a madman. "Yes," he said to him afterwards, "we are in
the right country. We shall see the beautiful princess."

One morning the two travellers noticed the old woman's most careful
toilette: how careful she was in the arrangement of her hair and the set of
her kasabah and puts.

"Who is coming?" said the vizier's son.

"Nobody," the old woman replied.

"Then where are you going?"

"I am going to see my daughter, who is a servant of the Princess Gulizar. I

see her and the princess every day. I should have gone yesterday, if you had
not been here and taken up all my time."

"Ah-h-h! Be careful not to say anything about us in the hearing of the

princess." The vizier's son asked her not to speak about them at the palace,
hoping that, because she had been told not to do so, she would mention
their arrival, and thus the princess would be informed of their coming.

On seeing her mother the girl pretended to be very angry. "Why have you
not been for two days?" she asked.

"Because, my dear," the old woman answered, "two young travellers, a

prince and the son of some great vizier, have taken up their abode in my
hut, and demand so much of my attention. It is nothing but cooking and
cleaning, and cleaning and cooking, all day long. I can't understand the
men," she added; "one of them especially, appears very stupid. He asked me
the name of this country and the name of the King. Now where can these
men have come from, that they do not know these things? However, they
are very great and very rich. They each give me a muhr every morning and
every evening."

After this the old woman went and repeated almost the same words to the
princess, on the hearing of which the princess beat her severely, and
 184

threatened her with a severer punishment if she ever again spoke of the
strangers before her.

In the evening, when the old woman had returned to her hut, she told the
vizier's son how sorry she was that she could not help breaking her promise,
and how the princess had struck her because she mentioned their coming
and all about them.

"Alas! alas!" said the prince, who had eagerly listened to every word. "What,
then, will be her anger at the sight of a man?"

"Anger?" said the vizier's son, with an astonished air. "She would be
exceedingly glad to see one man. I know this. In this treatment of the old
woman I see her request that you will go and see her during the coming
dark fortnight."

"Heaven be praised!" the prince exclaimed.

The next time the old woman went to the palace Gulizar called one of her
servants and ordered her to rush into the room while she was conversing
with the old woman; and if the old woman asked what was the matter, she
was to say that the King's elephants had gone mad, and were rushing about
the city and bazaar in every direction, and destroying everything in their
way.

The servant obeyed, and the old woman, fearing lest the elephants should
go and push down her hut and kill the prince and his friend, begged the
princess to let her depart. Now Gulizar had obtained a charmed swing, that
landed whoever sat on it at the place wherever they wished to be, "Get the
swing," she said to one of the servants standing by. When it was brought
she bade the old woman step into it and desire to be at home. The old
woman did so, and was at once carried through the air quickly and safely to
her hut, where she found her two lodgers safe and sound. "Oh!" she cried, "I
thought that both of you would be killed by this time. The royal elephants
have got loose and are running about wildly. When I heard this I was anxious
about you. So the princess gave me this charmed swing to return in. But
come, let us get outside before the elephants arrive and batter down the
place."
 185

"Don't believe this," said the vizier's son. "It is a mere hoax. They have been
playing tricks with you."

"You will soon have your heart's desire," he whispered aside to the prince.
"These things are signs."

Two days of the dark fortnight had elapsed, when the prince and the vizier's
son seated themselves in the swing, and wished themselves within the
grounds of the palace. In a moment they were there, and there too was the
object of their search standing by one of the palace gates, and longing to
see the prince quite as much as he was longing to see her.

Oh, what a happy meeting it was!

"At last," said Gulizar, "I have seen my beloved, my husband."

"A thousand thanks to Heaven for bringing me to you," said the prince.

Then the prince and Gulizar betrothed themselves to one another and
parted, the one for the hut and the other for the palace, both of them
feeling happier than they had ever been before.

Henceforth the prince visited Gulizar every day and returned to the hut
every night. One morning Gulizar begged him to stay with her always. She
was constantly afraid of some evil happening to him--perhaps robbers would
slay-him, or sickness attack him, and then she would be deprived of him. She
could not live without seeing him. The prince showed her that there was no
real cause for fear, and said that he felt be ought to return to his friend at
night, because he had left his home and country and risked his life for him;
and, moreover, if it had not been for his friend's help he would never have
met with her.

Gulizar for the time assented, but she determined in her heart to get rid of
the vizier's son as soon as possible. A few days after this conversation she
ordered one of her maids to make a pilaw. She gave special directions that a
certain poison was to be mixed into it while cooking, and as soon as it was
ready the cover was to be placed on the saucepan, so that the poisonous
steam might not escape. When the pilaw was ready she sent it at once by
 186

the hand of a servant to the vizier's son with this message: "Gulizar, the
princess, sends you an offering in the name of her dead uncle."

On receiving the present the vizier's son thought that the prince had spoken
gratefully of him to the princess, and therefore she had thus remembered
him. Accordingly he sent back his salaam and expressions of thankfulness.

When it was dinner-time he took the saucepan of pilaw and went out to eat
it by the stream. Taking off the lid, he threw it aside on the grass and then
washed his hands. During the minute or so that he was performing these
ablutions, the green grass under the cover of the saucepan turned quite
yellow. He was astonished, and suspecting that there was poison in the
pilaw, he took a little and threw it to some crows that were hopping about.
The moment the crow sate what was thrown to them they fell down dead.

"Heaven be praised," exclaimed the vizier's son, "who has preserved me

from death at this time!"

On the return of the prince that evening the vizier's son was very reticent
and depressed. The prince noticed this change in him, and asked what was
the reason. "Is it because I am away so much at the palace?" The vizier's son
saw that the prince had nothing to do with the sending of the pilaw, and
therefore told him everything.

"Look here," he said, "in this handkerchief is some pilaw that the princess
sent me this morning in the name of her deceased uncle. It is saturated with
poison. Thank Heaven, I discovered it in-time!"

"Oh, brother! who could have done this thing? Who is there that entertains
enmity against you?"

"The Princess Gulizar. Listen. The next time you go to see her, I entreat you
to take some snow with you; and just before seeing the princess put a little
of it into both your eyes. It will provoke tears, and Gulizar will ask you why
you are crying. Tell her that you weep for the loss of your friend, who died
suddenly this morning. Look! take, too, this wine and this shovel, and when
you have feigned intense grief at the death of your friend, bid the -princess
to drink a little of the wine. It is strong, and will immediately send her into a
deep sleep. Then, while she is asleep, heat the shovel and mark her back
 187

with it. Remember to bring back the shovel again, and also to take her pearl
necklace. This done, return. Now fear not to execute these instructions,
because on the fulfilment of them depends your fortune and happiness. I
will arrange that your marriage with the princess shall be accepted by the
King, her father, and all the court."

The prince promised that he would do everything as the vizier's son had
advised him; and he kept his promise.

The following night, on the return of the prince from his visit to Gulizar, he
and the vizier's son, taking the horses and bags of muhrs, went to a
graveyard about a mile or so distant. It was arranged that the vizier's son
should act the part of a fakir and the prince the part of the fakir's disciple
and servant.

In the morning, when Gulizar had returned to her senses, she felt a smarting
pain in her back, and noticed that her pearl necklace was gone. She went at
once and informed the King of the loss of her necklace, but said nothing to
him about the pain in her back.

The King was very angry when he beard of the theft, and caused
proclamation concerning it to be madee through-out all the city and
surrounding country.

"It is well," said the vizier's son, when be heard of this proclamation. "Fear
not, my brother, but go and take this necklace, and try to sell it in the
bazaar."

The prince took it to a goldsmith and asked him to buy it.

"How much do you want for it?" asked the man. "Fifty thousand rupees,"
the prince replied. "All right," said the man; "wait here while I go and fetch
the money."

The prince waited and waited, till at last the goldsmith returned, and with
him the kotwal, who at once took the prince into custody on the charge of
stealing the princess's necklace.

"How did you get the necklace?" the kotwal asked.

 188

"A fakir, whose servant I am, gave it to me to sell in the bazaar," the prince
replied. "Permit me, and I will show you where he is."

The prince directed the kotwal and the policeman to the place where he had
left the vizier's son, and there they found the fakir with his eyes shut and
engaged in prayer. Presently, when he had finished his devotions, the
kotwal asked him to explain how he had obtained possession of the
princess's necklace.

"Call the King hither," he replied, "and then I will tell his Majesty face to
face."

On this some men went to the King and told him what the fakir had said. His
Majesty came, and seeing the fakir so solemn and earnest in his devotions,
he was afraid to rouse his anger, lest peradventure the displeasure of
Heaven should descend on him, and so he placed his hands together in the
attitude of a supplicant, and asked," How did you get my daughter's
necklace? "

"Last night," replied the fakir, "we were sitting here by this tomb
worshipping Khuda, when a ghoul, dressed as a princess, came and
exhumed a body that had been buried a few days ago, and began to eat it.
On seeing this I was filled with anger, and beat her back with a shovel, which
lay on the fire at the time. While running away from me her necklace got
loose and dropped. You wonder at these words, but they are not difficult to
prove. Examine your daughter, and you will find the marks of the burn on
her back. Go, and if it is as I say, send the princess to me, and I will punish
her."

The King went back to the palace, and at once ordered the princess's back
to be examined.

"It is so," said the maid-servant; "the burn is there."

"Then let the girl be slain immediately," the King shouted.

"No, no, your Majesty," they replied. "Let us send her to the fakir who
discovered this thing, that he may do whatever he wishes with her."

The King agreed, and so the princess was taken to the graveyard.
 189

"Let her be shut up in a cage, and be kept near the grave whence she took
out the corpse," said the fakir.

This was done, and in a little while the fakir and his disciple and the princess
were left alone in the graveyard. Night had not long cast its dark mantle
over the scene when the fakir and his disciple threw off their disguise, and
taking their horses and luggage, appeared before the cage. They released
the princess, rubbed some ointment over the scars on her back, and then
sat her upon one of their horses behind the prince. Away they rode fast and
far, and by the morning were able to rest and talk over their plans in safety.
The vizier's son showed the princess some of the poisoned pilaw that she
had sent him, and asked whether she had repented of her ingratitude. The
princess wept, and acknowledged that he was her greatest helper and
friend.

A letter was sent to the chief vizier telling him of all that had happened to
the prince and the vizier's son since they had left their country. When the
vizier read the letter he went and informed the King. The King caused a reply
to be sent to the two exiles, in which he ordered them not to return, but to
send a letter to Gulizar's father, and inform him of everything. Accordingly
they did this; the prince wrote the letter at the vizier's son's dictation.

On reading the letter Gulizar's father was much enraged with his viziers and
other officials for not discovering the presence in his country of these
illustrious visitors, as he was especially, anxious to ingratiate himself in the
favour of the prince and the vizier's son. He ordered the execution of some
of the viziers on a certain date.

"Come," he wrote back to the vizier's son, "and stay at the palace. And if the
prince desires it, I will arrange for his marriage with Gulizar as soon as
possible."

The prince and the vizier's son most gladly accepted the invitation, and
received a right noble welcome from the King. The marriage soon took
place, and then after a few weeks the King gave them presents of' horses
and elephants, and jewels and rich cloths, and bade them start for their own
land; for he was sure that the King would now receive them. The night
before they left, the viziers and others, whom the King intended to have
 190

executed as soon as his visitors had left, came and besought the vizier's son
to plead for them, and promised that they each would give him a daughter
in marriage. He agreed to do so, and succeeded in obtaining their pardon.

Then the prince, with his beautiful bride Gulizar, and the vizier's son,
attended by a troop of soldiers, and a large number of camels and horses
bearing very much treasure, left for their own land. In the midst of the way
they passed the tower of the robbers, and with the help of the soldiers they
razed it to the ground, slew all its inmates, and seized the treasure which
they had been amassing there for several years.

At length they reached their own country, and when the King saw his son's
beautiful wife and his magnificent retinue he was at once reconciled, and
ordered him to enter the city and take up his abode there.

Henceforth all was sunshine on the path of the prince. He became a great
favourite, and in due time succeeded to the throne, and ruled the country
for many, many years in peace and happiness.
 191

HOW SUN, MOON, AND WIND WENT OUT TO DINNER

ONE day Sun, Moon, and Wind went out to dine with their uncle and aunts
Thunder and Lightning. Their mother (one of the most distant Stars you see
far up in the sky) waited alone for her children's return.

Now both Sun and Wind were greedy and selfish. They enjoyed the great
feast that had been prepared for them, without a thought of saving any of it
to take home to their mother--but the gentle Moon did not forget her. Of
every dainty dish that was brought round, she placed a small portion under
one of her beautiful long finger-nails, that Star might also have a share in the
treat.
 192

On their return their mother, who had kept watch for them all night long
with her little bright eye, said, "Well, children, what have you brought home
for me?" Then Sun (who was eldest) said, "I have brought nothing home for
you. I went out to enjoy myself with my friends--not to fetch a dinner for my
mother!" And Wind said, "Neither have I brought anything home for you,
mother. You could hardly expect me to bring a collection of good things for
you, when I merely went out for my own pleasure." But Moon said,
"Mother, fetch a plate, see what I. have brought you." And shaking her
hands she showered down such a choice dinner as never was seen before.

Then Star turned to Sun and spoke thus, "Because you went out to amuse
yourself with your friends, and feasted and enjoyed yourself, without any
thought of your mother at home--you shall be cursed. Henceforth, your rays
shall ever be hot and scorching, and shall burn all that they touch. And men
shall hate you, and cover their heads when you appear."

(And that is why the Sun is so hot to this day.)

Then she turned to Wind and said, "You also who forgot your mother in the
midst of your selfish pleasures--hear your doom. You shall always blow in
the hot dry weather, and shall parch and shrivel all living things. And men
shall detest and avoid you from this very time."

(And that is why the Wind in the hot weather is still so disagreeable.)

But to Moon she said, "Daughter, because you remembered your mother,
and kept for her a share in your own enjoyment, from henceforth, you shall
be ever cool, and calm, and bright. No noxious glare shall accompany your
pure rays, and men shall always call you 'blessed.' "

(And that is why the Moon's light is so soft, and cool, and beautiful even to
this day.)
 193

HOW THE WICKED SONS WERE DUPED

A VERY wealthy old man, imagining that he was on the point of death, sent
for his sons and divided his property among them. However, he did not die
for several years afterwards; and miserable years many of them were.
Besides the weariness of old age, the old fellow had to bear with much
abuse and cruelty from his sons. Wretched, selfish ingrates! Previously they
vied with one another in trying to please their father, hoping thus to receive
more money, but now they had received their patrimony, they cared not
how soon he left them--nay, the sooner the better, because he was only a
needless trouble and expense. And they let the poor old man know what
they felt.

One day he met a friend and related to him all his troubles. The friend
sympathised very much with him, and promised to think over the matter,
and call in a little while and tell him what to do. He did so; in a few days he
visited the old man and put down four bags full of stones and gravel before
him.

"Look here, friend," said he. "Your sons will get to know of my coming here
to-day, and will inquire about it. You must pretend that I came to discharge a
long-standing debt with you, and that you are several thousands of rupees
richer than you thought you were. Keep these bags in your own hands, and
on no account let your sons get to them as long as you are alive. You will
soon find them change their conduct towards you. Salaam. I will come again
soon to see how you are getting on."

When the young men got to hear of this further increase of wealth they
began to be more attentive and pleasing to their father than ever before.
And thus they continued to the day of the, old man's demise, when the bags
were greedily opened, and found to contain only stones and gravel!
 194

THE PIGEON AND THE CROW

ONCE upon a time the Bodhisatta was a Pigeon, and lived in a nest-basket
which a rich man's cook had hung up in the kitchen, in order to earn merit by
it. A greedy Crow, flying near, saw all sorts of delicate food lying about in the
kitchen, and fell a-hungering after it. "How in the world can I get some?"
thought he. At last he hit upon a plan.

When the Pigeon went to search for food, behind him, following, following,
came the Crow.

"What do you want, Mr. Crow? You and I don't feed alike."

"Ah, but I like you and your ways! Let me be your chum, and let us feed
together."

The Pigeon agreed, and they went on in company. The Crow pretended to
feed along with the Pigeon, but ever and anon be would turn back, peck to
bits some heap of cow-dung, and eat a fat worm. When he had got a bellyful
of them, up he flies, as pert as you like:

"Hullo, Mr. Pigeon, what a time you take over your meal! One ought to draw
the line somewhere. Let's be going home before it is too late." And so they
did.
 195

The cook saw that his Pigeon had brought a friend, and hung up another
basket for him. A few days afterwards there was a great purchase of fish
which came to the rich man's kitchen. How the Crow longed for some! So
there he lay, from early morn, groaning and making a great noise. Says the
Pigeon to the Crow:

"Come, Sir Crow, and get your breakfast! "

"Oh dear! oh dear! I have such a fit of indigestion!" says he.

"Nonsense! Crows never have indigestion," said the Pigeon. "If you eat a
lamp-wick, that stays in your stomach a little while; but anything else is
digested in a trice, as soon as you eat it, Now do what I tell you; don't
behave in this way just for seeing a little fish."

"Why do you say that, master? I have indigestion."

"Well, be careful," said the Pigeon, and flew away.

The cook prepared all the dishes, and then stood at the kitchen door, wiping
the seat off his body. "Now's my time!" thought Mr. Crow, and alighted on a
dish containing some dainty food. Click! The cook heard it, and looked
round. Ah! he caught the Crow, and plucked all the feathers out of his head,
all but one tuft; he powdered ginger and cummin, mixed it up with butter-
milk, and rubbed it well all over the bird's body.

"That's for spoiling my master's dinner and making me throw it away!" said
he, and threw him into his basket. Oh, how it hurt!

By-and-by the Pigeon came in, and saw the Crow lying there, making a great
noise. He made great game of him, and repeated a verse of poetry:

"Who is this tufted crane I see

Lying where he's no right to be?
Come out! my friend, the crow is near,
And he may do you harm, I fear!"

To this the Crow answered with another:

"No tufted, crane am I--no, no!

I'm nothing but a greedy crow.
 196

I would not do as I was told,

So now I'm plucked, as you behold."

And the Pigeon rejoined with a third verse:

"You'll come to grief again, I know--

It is your nature to do so;
If people make a dish of meat,
'Tis not for little birds to eat."

Then the Pigeon flew away, saying: "I can't live with this creature any
longer." And the Crow lay there groaning till he died.
 197

GENERAL NOTES

THE story literature of India is in a large measure the outcome of the moral
revolution of the peninsula connected with the name of Gautama Buddha.
As the influence of his life and doctrines grew, a tendency arose to connect
all the popular stories of India round the great teacher. This could be easily
effected owing to the wide spread of the belief in metempsychosis. All that
was told of the sages of the past could be interpreted of the Buddha by
representing them as pre-incarnations of him. Even with Fables, or beast-
tales, this could be done, for the Hindus were Darwinists long before
Darwin, and regarded beasts as cousins of men and stages of development
in the progress of the soul through the ages. Thus, by identifying the
Buddha with the heroes of all folk-tales and the chief characters in the
beast-drolls, the Buddhists were enabled to incorporate the whole of the
story-store of Hindustan in their sacred books, and enlist on their side the
tale-telling instincts of men.

In making Buddha the centre figure of the popular literature of India, his
followers also invented the Frame as a method of literary art. The idea of
connecting a number of disconnected stories familiar to us from The Arabian
Nights, Boccaccio's Decamerone, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, or
even Pickwick, is directly traceable to the plan of making Buddha the central
figure of India folk-literature. Curiously enough, the earliest instance of this
in Buddhist literature was intended to be a Decameron, ten tales of
Buddha's previous births, told of each of the ten Perfections. Asvagosha,
the early Boccaccio, died when he had completed thirty-four of the Birth-
Tales. But other collections were made, and at last a corpus of the ATAKAS,
or Birth-Tales of the Buddha, was carried over to Ceylon, possibly as early as
the first introduction of Buddhism, 241 B.C. There they have remained till the
present day, and have at last been made accessible in a complete edition in
the original Pali by Prof. Fausböll.

These JATAKAS, as we now have them, are enshrined in a commentary on

the gathas, or moral verses, written in Ceylon by one of Buddhaghosa's
 198

school in the fifth century A.D. They invariably begin with a " Story of the
Present," an incident in Buddha's life which calls up to him a "Story of the
Past," a folk-tale in which he had played a part during one of his former
incarnations. Thus the fable of the Lion and the Crane, which opens the
present collection, is introduced by a "Story of the Present" in the following
words:--"A service have we done thee" [the opening words of the gatha or
moral verse]. "This the Master told while living at Jetavana concerning
Devadatta's treachery. Not only now, O Bhickkus, but in a former existence
was Devadatta ungrateful. And having said this he told a tale." Then follows
the tale as given above (pp. 1, 2), and the commentary concludes: "The
Master having given the lesson, summed up the Jataka thus: 'At that time,
the Lion was Devadatta, and the Crane was I myself." Similarly, with each
story of the past the Buddha identifies himself, or is mentioned as identical
with, the virtuous hero of the folk-tale. These Jatakas are 550 in number,
and have been reckoned to include some 2000 tales. Some of these had
been translated by Mr. Rhys-Davids (Buddhist Birth Stories, I, Trübner's
Oriental Library, 1880), Prof. Fausböll(Five Jatakas, Copenhagen), and Dr. R.
Morris (Folk-lore Journal, vols. ii.--v.) A few exist sculptured on the earliest
Buddhist Stupas. Thus several of the circular figure designs on the reliefs
from Amaravati, now on the grand staircase of the British Museum,
represent Jatakas, or previous births of the Buddha.

Some of the Jatakas bear a remarkable resemblance to some of the most

familiar FABLES OF AESOP So close is the resemblance, indeed, that it is
impossible not to surmise an historical relation between the two. What this
relation is I have discussed at considerable length in the "History of the
Aesopic Fable," which forms the introductory volume to my edition of
Caxton's Esope (London, D. Nut; "Bibliothèque de Carabas," 1889). In this
place I can only roughly summarise my results. I conjecture that a collection
of fables existed in India before Buddha and independently of the Jatakas,
and connected with the name of Kasyapa, who was afterwards made by the
Buddhists into the latest of the twenty-seven pre-incarnations of the
Buddha. This collection of the Fables of Kasyapa was brought to Europe
with a deputation from the Cingalese King Chandra Muka Siwa (obiit 52
A.D.) to the Emperor Claudius about 50 A.D, and was done into Greek as the
Αόγοι Αμβικοι of "Kybises." These were utilised by Babrius (from whom the
 199

Greek AEsop is derived) and Avian, and so came into the European Aesop. I
have discussed all those that are to be found in the Jatakas in the" History "
before mentioned, i pp. 54--73 (see Notes i. xv. xx.). In these Notes
henceforth I refer to the "History" as my Aesop.

There were probably other Buddhist collections of a similar nature to the

Jatakas with a framework. When the Hindu reaction against Buddhism
came, the Brahmins adapted these, with the omission of Buddha as the
central figure. There is scarcely any doubt that the so-called FABLES OF
BIDPAI were thus derived from Buddhistic sources. In its Indian form this is
now extant as a Panchatantra or Pentateuch, five books of tales connected
by a Frame. This collection is of special interest to us in the present
connection, as it has come to Europe in various forms and shapes. I have
edited Sir Thomas North's English version of an Italian adaptation of a
Spanish translation of a Latin version of a Hebrew translation of an Arabic
adaptation of the Pehlevi version of the Indian original (Fables of
Bidpai, 'London, D. Nutt, "Bibliothèque de Carabas," 1888). In this I give a
genealogical table of the various versions, from which I calculate that the
tales have been translated into thirty-eight languages in 112 different
versions, twenty different ones in English alone. Their influence on European
folk-tales has been very great: it is probable that nearly one-tenth of these
can be traced to the Biddai literature. (See Notes v. ix. x. xiii. xv.)

Other collections of a similar character, arranged in a frame, and derived

ultimately from Buddhistic sources, also reached Europe and formed
popular reading in the Middle Ages. Among these may be mentioned THE
TALES OF SINDIBAD, known to Europe as The Seven Sages of Rome: from this
we get the Gellert story (cf. Celtic Fairy Tales), though it also occurs in the
Bidpai. Another popular collection was that associated with the life of St
Buddha, who has been canonised as St. Josaphat: BARLAAM AND
JOSAPHAT tells of his conversion and much else besides, including the tale
of The Three Caskets, used by Shakespeare in the Merchant of Venice.

Some of the Indian tales reached Europe at the time of the Crusades, either
orally or in collections no longer extant. The earliest selection of these was
the Disciplina Clericalis of Petrus Alphonsi, a Spanish Jew converted about
1106; his tales were to be used as seasoning for sermons, and strong
 200

seasoning they must have proved. Another Spanish collection of

considerably later date was entitled El Conde Lucanor (Eng. trans. by W.
York): this contains the fable of The Man, his Son, and their Ass, which they
ride or carry as the popular voice decides. But the most famous collection of
this kind was that known as GESTA ROMANORUM, much of which was
certainly derived from Oriental and ultimately Indian sources, and so might
more appropriately be termed Gesta Indorum.

All these collections, which reached Europe in the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries, became very popular, and were used by monks and friars to
enliven their sermons as EXEMPLA. Prof. Crane has. given a full account of
this very curious phenomenon in his erudite edition of the Exempla of
Jacques de Vitry (Folk Lore Society, 1890). The Indian stories were also used
by the Italian Novellieri; much of Boccaccio and his school being derived
from this source. As these again gave material for the Elizabethan Drama,
chiefly in W. Painter's Palace of Pleasure, a collection of
translated Novelle which I have edited (Lond., 3 vols. 1890), it is not
surprising that we can at times trace portions of Shakespeare back to India.
It should also be mentioned that one-half of La Fontaine's Fables (Bks. vii.--
xii.) are derived from Indian sources. (See Note on No. v.)

In India itself the collection of stories in frames went on and still goes on.
Besides those already mentioned there are the stories of Vikram and the
Vampire (Vetala), translated among others by the late Sir Richard Burton,
and the seventy stories of a parrot (Suka Saptati). The whole of this
literature was summed up by Somadeva, C. 1200 AD. in a huge compilation
entitled Katha Sarit Sagara (" Ocean of the Stream of Stories "). Of this work,
written in very florid style, Mr. Tawney has produced a translation in two
volumes, in the Bibliotheca Indica. Unfortunately, there is a Divorce Court
atmosphere about the whole book, and my selections from it have been
accordingly restricted. (Notes, No. xi.)

So much for a short sketch of Indian folk-tales so far as they have been
reduced to writing in the native literature. [An admirable and full account of
this literature was given by M. A. Barth in Mélusine, t. iv. No. 12, and t. v. No.
1. See also Table i. of Prof. Rhys-Davids' Birth Stories.] The Jatakas are
probably the oldest collection of such tales in literature, and the greater part
 201

of the rest are demonstrably more than a thousand years. old. It is certain
that much (perhaps one-fifth) of the popular literature of modern Europe is
derived from those portions of this large bulk which came West with the
Crusades through the medium of Arabs and Jews. In his
elaborate Einleitung to the Pantschatantra, the Indian version of the Fables
of Bidpai, Prof. Benfey contended with enormous erudition that the majority
of folk-tale incidents were to be found in the Bidpai literature. His
introduction consisted of over 200 monographs on the spread of Indian
tales to Europe. He wrote in 1859, before the great outburst of folk-tale
collection in Europe, and he had not thus adequate materials to go about in
determining the extent of Indian influence on the popular mind of Europe.
But he made it clear that for beast-tales and for drolls, the majority of those
current in the mouths of occidental people were derived from Eastern and
mainly Indian sources. He was not successful, in my opinion, in tracing the
serious fairy tale to India. Few of the tales in the Indian literary collections
could be dignified by the name of fairy tales, and it was clear that, if these
were to be traced to India, an examination of the contemporary folk-tales of
the peninsula would have to be attempted.

The collection of current Indian folk-tales has been the work of the last
quarter of a century, a work, even after what has been achieved, still in its
initial stages. The credit of having begun the process is due to Miss Frere,
who, while her father was Governor of the Bombay Presidency, took down
from the lips of her ayah, Anna de Souza, one of a Lingaet family from Goa
who had been Christian for three generations, the tales she afterwards
published with Mr. Murray in 1868, under the title, "Old Deccan Days, or,
Indian Fairy Legends current in Southern India, collected from oral tradition by
M. Frere, with an introduction and notes by Sir Bartle Frere." Her example was
followed by Miss Stokes in her Indian Fairy Tales (London, Ellis & White,
1880), who took down her tales from two ayahs and a Khitmatgar, all of
them Bengalese--the ayahs Hindus, and the man a Mohammedan. Mr.
Ralston introduced the volume with some remarks which dealt too much
with sun-myths for present-day taste. Another collection from Bengal was
that of Lal Behari Day, a Hindu gentleman, in his Folk-Tales of
Bengal (London, Macmillan, 1883). The Panjab and the Kashmir then had
their turn: Mrs. Steel collected, and Captain (now Major) Temple edited and
 202

annotated, their Wideawake Stories (London, Trübner, 1884), stories

capitally told and admirably annotated. Captain Temple increased the value
of this collection by a remarkable analysis of all the incidents contained in
the two hundred Indian folk-tales collected up to this date. It is not too
much to say that this analysis marks an onward step in the scientific study of
the folk-tale: there is such a thing, derided as it may be. I have throughout
the Notes been able to draw attention to Indian parallels by a simple
reference to Major Temple's Analysis.

Major Temple has not alone himself collected: he has been the cause that
many others have collected. In the pages of the Indian Antiquary, edited by
him, there have appeared from time to time folk-tales collected from all
parts of India Some of these have been issued separately. Sets of tales from
Southern India, collected by the Pandit Natesa Sastri, have been issued
under the title Folk-Lore of Southern India, three fascicules of which have
been recently re-issued by Mrs. Kingscote under the title, Tales of the
Sun (W. H. Allen, 1891): it would have been well if the identity of the two
works had been clearly explained. The largest, addition to our knowledge of
the Indian folk-tale that has been made since Wideawake Stories is that
contained in Mr. Knowles' Folk-Tales of Kashmir (Trübner's Oriental Library,
1887), sixty-three stories, some of great length. These, with Mr.
Campbell's Santal Tales (1892); Ramaswami Raju's Indian Fables (London,
Sonnenschein, n.d.); M. Thornhill, Indian Fairy Tales (London, 1889); and E.
J. Robinson, Tales of S. India (1885), together with those contained in books
of travel like Thornton's Bannu or Smeaton's Karens of Burmah, bring up the
list of printed Indian folk-tales to over 350--a respectable total indeed, but a
mere drop in the ocean of the stream of stories that must exist in such a
huge population as that of India: the Central Provinces in particular are
practically unexplored. There are doubtless many collections still
unpublished. Col. Lewin has large numbers, besides the few published in
his Lushai Grammar; and Mr. M. L. Dames has a number of Baluchi tales
which I have been privileged to use. Altogether, India now ranks among the
best represented countries for printed folk-tales, coming only after Russia
(1500), Germany (1200), Italy and France (1000 each). [Finland boasts of
12,000, but most of these lie unprinted among the archives of the
Helsingfors Literary Society.] Counting the ancient with the modern, India
 203

has probably some 600 to 700 folk-tales printed and translated in accessible
form. There should be enough material to determine the vexed question of
the relations between the European and the Indian collections.

This question has taken a new departure with the researches of M. Emanuel
Cosquin in his Contes populaires de Lorraine (Paris, 1886, 2° tirage, 1890),
undoubtedly the most important contribution to the scientific study of the
folk-tale since the Grimms. M. Cosquin gives in the annotations to the
eighty-tour tales which he has collected in Lorraine a mass of information as
to the various forms which the tales take in other countries of Europe and in
the East. In my opinion, the work he has done for the European folk-tale is
even more valuable than the conclusions he draws from it as to the relations
with India. He has taken up the work which Wilhelm Grimm dropped in 1859,
and shown from the huge accumulations of folk-tales that have appeared
during the last thirty years that there is a common fund of folk-tales, which
every country of Europe without exception possesses, though this does not,
of course, preclude them from possessing others that are not shared by the
rest. M. Cosquin further contends that the whole of these have come from
the East, ultimately from India, not by literary transmission, as Benfey
contended, but by oral transmission. He has certainly shown that very many
of the most striking incidents common to European folk-tales are also to be
found in Eastern mährchen. What, however, he has failed to show is that
some of these may not have been carried out to the Eastern world by
Europeans. Borrowing tales is a mutual process, and when Indian meets
European, European meets Indian; which borrowed from which, is a
question which we have very few criteria to decide. It should be added that
Mr. W. A. Clouston has in England collected with exemplary industry a large
number of parallels between Indian and European folk-tale incidents in
his Popular Tales and Fictions (Edinburgh, 2 vols., 1887) and Book of
Noodles (London, 1888). Mr. Clouston has not openly expressed his
conviction that all folk-tales are Indian in origin: he prefers to convince
us non vi sed saepe cadendo. He has certainly made out a good case for
tracing all European drolls, or comic folk-tales, from the East.

With the fairy tale strictly so called--i.e., the serious folk-tale of romantic
adventure--I am more doubtful. It is mainly a modern product in India as in
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Europe, so far as literary evidence goes. The vast bulk of the Jatakas does
not contain a single example worthy the name, nor does the Bidpai
literature. Some of Somadeva's tales, however, approach the nature of fairy
tales, but there are several Celtic tales which can be traced to an earlier date
than his (1200 A.D.) and are equally near to fairy tales. Yet it is dangerous to
trust to mere non-appearance in literature as proof of non-existence among
the folk. To take our own tales here in England, there is not a single instance
of a reference to Jack and the Beanstalk for the last three hundred years, yet
it is undoubtedly a true folk-tale. And it is indeed remarkable how many of
the formulae of fairy tales have been found of recent years in India. Thus,
the Magic Fiddle, found among the Santals by Mr.. Campbell in two variants
(see Notes on vi.), contains the germ idea of the widespread story
represented in Great Britain by the ballad of Binnorie (see English Fairy
Tales, No. ix.). Similarly, Mr. Knowles' collection has added considerably to
the number of Indian variants of European "formulae" beyond those noted
by M. Cosquin.

It is still more striking as regards incidents. In a paper read before the Folk-
Lore Congress of 1891, and reprinted in the Transactions, pp. 76 seq., I have
drawn up a list of some 630 incidents found in common among European
folk-tales (including drolls). Of these, I reckon that about 250 have been
already found among Indian folk-tales, and the number is increased by each
new collection that is made or printed. The moral of this is, that India
belongs to a group of peoples who have a common store of stories; India
belongs to Europe for purposes of comparative folk-tales.

Can we go further and say that India is the source of all the incidents that
are held in common by European children? I think we may answer "Yes" as
regards droll incidents, the travels of many of which we can trace, and we
have the curious result that European children owe their earliest laughter to
Hindu wags. As regards the serious incidents, further inquiry is needed.
Thus, we find the incident of an "external soul" (Life Index, Captain Temple
very appropriately named it) in Asbjornsen's Norse Tales and in Miss
Frere's Old Deccan Days (see Notes on Punchkin). Yet the latter is a 'very
suspicious source, since Miss Frere derived her tales from a
Christian ayah whose family had been in Portuguese Goa for a hundred
 205

years. May they not have got the story of the giant with his soul outside his
body from some European sailor touching at Goa? This is to a certain extent
negatived by the fact of the frequent occurrence of the incident in Indian
folk-tales (Captain Temple gave a large number of instances in Wideawake
Stories, pp. 404--5). On the other hand, Mr. Frazer in his Golden Bough has
shown the wide spread of the idea among all savage or semi-savage tribes.
(See Note on No. iv.)

In this particular case we may be doubtful; but in others, again--as the

incident of the rat's tail up nose (see Notes on The Charmed Ring)--there can
be little doubt of the Indian origin. And generally, so far as the incidents are
marvellous and of true fairy-tale character, the presumption is in favour of
India, because of the vitality of animism or metempsychosis in India
throughout all historic time. No Hindu would doubt the fact of animals
speaking or of men transformed into plants and animals. The European may
once have had these beliefs, and may still hold them implicitly as "survivals";
but in the "survival" stage they cannot afford material for artistic creation,
and the fact that the higher minds of Europe for the last thousand years
have discountenanced these beliefs has not been entirely without influence.
Of one thing there is practical certainty; the fairy tales that are common to
the Indo-European world were invented once for all in a certain, locality, and
thence spread to all the countries in culture contact with the original source.
The mere fact that contiguous countries have more similarities in their story
store than distant ones is sufficient to prove this: indeed, the fact that any
single country has spread throughout it a definite set of folk-tales as
distinctive as its flora and fauna is sufficient to prove it. It is equally certain
that not all folk-tales have come from one source, for each country has tales
peculiar to itself. The question is as to the source of the tales that are
common to all European children, and increasing evidence seems to show
that this common nucleus is derived from India and India alone. The Hindus
have been more successful than others, because of two facts: they have had
the appropriate "atmosphere" of metempsychosis, and they have also had
spread among the people sufficient literary training and mental grip to
invent plots. The Hindu tales have ousted the native European, which
undoubtedly existed independently; indeed, many still survive, especially in
Celtic lands. Exactly in the same way, Perrault's tales have ousted the older
 206

English folk-tales, and it is with the utmost difficulty that one can get true
English fairy tales because Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, Blue Beard, Puss in
Boots and the rest, have survived in the struggle for existence among
English folk-tales. So far as Europe has a common store of fairy tales, it owes
this to India.

I do not wish to be misunderstood. I do not hold with Benfey that all

European folk-tales are derived from the Bidpai literature and similar literary
products, nor with M. Cosquin that they are all derived from India. The latter
scholar has proved that there is a nucleus of stories in every European land
which is common to all. I calculate that this includes from 30 to 50 per cent.
of the whole, and it is this common stock of Europe that I regard as coming
from India mainly at the time of the Crusades, and chiefly by oral
transmission. It includes all the beast tales and most of the drolls, but
evidence is still lacking about the more serious fairy tales, though it is
increasing with every fresh collection of folk-tales in India, the great
importance of which is obvious from the above considerations.

In the following Notes I give, as on the two previous occasions,

the source whence I derived the tale, then parallels, and finally remarks. For
Indian parallels I have been able to refer to Major Temple's remarkable
Analysis of Indian Folk-tale incidents at the end of Wide-awake Stories (pp.
386--436), for European ones to my alphabetical List of Incidents, with
bibliographical references, in Transactions of Folk-Lore Congress, 1892, pp. 87-
-98. My remarks have been mainly devoted to tracing the relation between
the Indian and the European tales, with the object of showing that the latter
have been derived from the former. I have, however, to some extent
handicapped myself, as I have avoided giving again the Indian versions of
stories already given in English Fairy Tales or Celtic Fairy Tales.
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STORY NOTES

I. THE LION AND THE CRANE.

Source.--V. Fausboll, Five Jatakas, Copenhagen, 1861, pp. 35--8, text and
translation of the Javasakuna Jataka. I have ventured to English Prof.
Fausböll's version, which was only intended as a "crib" to the Pali. For the
omitted Introduction, see supra.

Parallels.--I have given a rather full collection of parallels, running to about a

hundred numbers, in my Aesop, pp. 232--4. The chief of these are: (1) for the
East, the Midrashic version (" Lion and Egyptian Partridge "), in the great
Rabbinic commentary on Genesis (Bereshithrabba, c. 64); (2) in classical
antiquity, Phaedrus, i. 8 (" Wolf and Crane "), and Babrius, 94 ("Wolf and
Heron"), and the Greek proverb Suidas, ii, 248 (" Out of the Wolf's Mouth");
(3) in the Middle Ages, the so-called Greek Aesop. ed. Halm; 276 b, really
prose versions of Babrius and "Romulus," or prose of Phaedrus, i. 8, also the
Romulus of Ademar (fl. 1030), 64; it occurs also on the Bayeux Tapestry, in
Marie de France, 7, and in Benedict of Oxford's Mishle Shualim (Heb.), 8; (4)
Stainhöwel took it from the " Romulus" into his German Aesop (1480),
whence all the modern European Aesops are derived.

Remarks.--I have selected The Wolf and the Crane as my typical example in
my "History of the Aesopic Fable," and can only give here a rough summary
of the results I there arrived at concerning the fable, merely premising that
these results are at present no more than hypotheses. The similarity of the
Jataka form with that familiar to us, and derived by us in the last resort from
Phaedrus, is so striking that few will deny some historical relation between
them. I conjecture that the Fable originated in India, and came West, by two
different routes. First, it came by oral tradition to Egypt, as one of the Libyan
Fables which the ancients themselves distinguished from the Aesopic
Fables. It was, however, included by Demetrius Phalereus, tyrant of Athens,
and founder of the Alexandrian library c. 300 B.C., in his Assemblies of
Aesopic Fables, which I have shown to be the source of Phaedrus' Fables c.
30 A.D. Besides this, it came from Ceylon in the Fables of Kybises--i.e.,
 208

Kasyapa the Buddha--c. 50 A.D., was adapted into Hebrew, and used for
political purposes, by Rabbi Joshua ben Chananyah in a harangue to the
Jews, c. 120 A.D., begging them to be patient while within the jaws of Rome.
The Hebrew form uses the lion, not the wolf, as the ingrate, which enables
us to decide on the Indian provenance of the Midrashic version. It may be
remarked that the use of the lion in this and other Jatakas is indirectly a
testimony to their great age, as the lion has become rarer and rarer in India
during historic times, and is now confined to the Gir forest of Kathiáwar,
where only a dozen specimens exist, and are strictly preserved.

The verses at the end are the earliest parts of the Jataka, being in more
archaic Pali than the rest: the story is told by the commentator (c. 400 AD)
to illustrate them. It is probable that they were brought over on the first
introduction of Buddhism into Ceylon, c. 241 B.C. This would give them an
age of aver two thousand years, nearly three hundred years earlier than
Phaedrus, from whom comes our Wolf and Crane.

II. PRINCESS LABAM.

Source.--Miss Stokes, Indian Fairy Tales, No. xxii. pp. 153--63, told by Mániyá,
one of the ayahs. I have left it unaltered, except that I have replaced" God"
by " Khuda," the word originally used (see Notes l. c., p. 237).

Parallels.--The tabu, as to a particular direction, occurs in other Indian stories

as well as in European folk-tales (see notes on Stokes, p. 286). The grateful
animals theme occurs in "The Soothsayer's Son" (infra, No. x.), and
frequently in Indian folk-tales (see Temple's Analysis, III. i. 5--7;Wideawake
Stories, pp.412--3). The thorn in the tiger's foot is especially common
(Temple, l. c., 6, 9), and recalls the story of Androclus, which occurs in the
derivates of Phaedrus, and may thus be Indian in origin (see Benfey,
Panschatantra, i. 211,and the parallels given in my Aesop, Ro. iii.-1, p. 243). The
theme is, however, equally frequent in European folk-tales: see my List of
Incidents, Proc. Folk-Lore Congress, p. 91, s.v. "Grateful Animals" and "Gifts
by Grateful Animals." Similarly, the " Bride Wager" incident at the end is
common to a large number of Indian and European folk-tales (Temple,
Analysis, p. 430; my List, l.c. sub voce). The tasks are also equally
 209

common (c.f. "Battle of the Birds " in Celtic Fairy Tales), though the exact
forms as given in "Princess Labam" are not known in Europe.

Remarks.--We have here a concrete instance of the relation of Indian and

European fairy-tales. The human mind may be the same everywhere, but it is
not likely to hit upon the sequence of incidents, Direction tabu--Grateful
Animals--Bride-Wager--Tasks, by accident or independently: Europe must
have borrowed from India, or India from Europe. As this must have occurred
within historic times, indeed within the last thousand years, when even
European peasants are not likely to have invented, even if they believed, in
the incident of the grateful animals, the probability is in favour of borrowing
from India, possibly through the intermediation of Arabs at the time of the
Crusades. It is only a probability, but we cannot in any case reach more than
probability in this matter, just at present.

III. LAMBIKIN.

Source.--Steel-Temple, Wideawake Stories, pp. 69--72, originally published

in Indian Antiquary, xii. 175. The droll is common throughout the Panjab.

Parallels.--The similarity of the concluding episode with the finish of the

"Three Little Pigs" (Eng. Fairy Tales, No. xiv.). In my notes on that droll I have
pointed out that the pigs were once goats or kids with "hair on their chinny
chin chin." This brings the tale a stage nearer to the Lambikin.

Remarks.--The similarity of Pig No. 3 rolling down hill in the churn and the
Lambikin in the Drumikin can scarcely be accidental; though, it must be
confessed, the tale has undergone considerable modification before it
reached England.

IV. PUNCHKIN,

Source.--Miss Frere, Old Deccan Days, pp. 1--16, from her ayah, Anna de Souza,
of a Lingaet family settled and Christianised at Goa for three generations. I
should perhaps add that a Prudhan is a Prime Minister or Vizier; Punts are
the same, and Sirdars, nobles.

Parallels.--The son of seven mothers is a characteristic Indian conception, for

which see Notes on "The Son of Seven Queens" in this collection, No. xvi.
 210

The mother transformed, envious stepmother, ring recognition, are all

incidents common to East and West; bibliographical references for parallels
may be found under these titles in my List of Incidents. The external soul of
the ogre has been studied by Mr. E. Clodd in Folk-Lore Journal, vol. ii., "The
Philosophy of Punchkin," and still more elaborately in the section, "The
External Soul in Folk-Tales," in Mr. Frazer's Golden Bough, ii. pp. 296--326.
See also 'Major Temple's Analysis, II. iii., Wideawake Stories, pp. 404 - 5, who
there gives the Indian parallels.

Remarks.--Both Mr. Clodd and Mr. Frazer regard the essence of the tale to
consist in the conception of an external soul or "life-index," and they both
trace in this a 'survival" of savage philosophy, which they consider occurs
among all men at a certain stage of culture. But the most cursory
examination of the sets of tales containing these incidents in Mr. Frazer's
analyses shows that many, indeed the majority, of these tales cannot be
independent of one another; for they contain not alone the incident of an
external materialised soul, but the further point that this is contained in
something else, which is enclosed in another thing, which is again
surrounded by a wrapper. This Chinese ball arrangement is found in the
Deccan (" Punchkin"); in Bengal (Day, Folk-Tales of Bengal); in Russia
(Ralston, p. 103 seq., "Koschkei the Deathless," also in Mr. Lang's Red Fairy
Book); in Servia (Mijatovics, Servian Folk-Lore, p. 172); in South Slavonia
(Wratislaw, p. 225); in Rome (Miss Busk, p. 164); in Albania (Dozon, p.
132 seq.); in Transylvania (Haltrich, No. 34); in Schleswig-Holstein
(Müllenhoff, p. 404); in Norway (Asbjörnsen, No. 36, ap. Dasent, Pop.
Tales, p. 55, "The Giant who had no Heart in his Body"); and finally, in the
Hebrides (Campbell, Pop. Tales, p. 10, cf. Celtic Fairy Tales, No. xvii., "Sea
Maiden "). Here we have the track of this remarkable idea of an external
soul enclosed in a succession of wrappings, which we can trace from
Hindostan to the Hebrides.

It is difficult to imagine that we have not here the actual migration of the
tale from East to West. In Bengal we have the soul "in a necklace, in a box, in
the heart of a boal fish, in a tank"; in Albania "it is in a pigeon, in a hare, in
the silver tusk of a wild boar"; in Rome it is "in a stone, in the head of a bird,
in the head of a leveret, in the middle head of a seven-headed hydra"; in
 211

Russia "it is in an egg, in a duck, in a hare, in a casket, in an oak"; in Servia it

is "in a board, in the heart of a fox, in a mountain"; in Transylvania "it is in a
light, in an egg, in a duck, in a pond, in a mountain;"in Norway it is "in an
egg, in a duck, in a well, in a church, on an island, in a lake"; in the Hebrides it
is "in an egg, in the belly of a duck, in the belly of a wether, under a
flagstone on the threshold." It is impossible to imagine the human mind
independently imagining such bizarre convolutions. They were borrowed
from one nation to the other, and till we have reason shown to the contrary,
the original lender was a Hindu. I should add that the mere conception of an
external soul occurs in the oldest Egyptian tale of "The Two Brothers," but
the wrappings are absents

V. THE BROKEN POT.

Source.--Pantschatantra, V. ix,, tr. Benfey, ii. 345--6.

Parallels.--Benfey, in § 209 of his Einleitung, gives bibliographical references

to most of those which are given at length in Prof. M. Müller's brilliant essay
on "The Migration of Fables" (Selected Essays, i. 500--76), which is entirely
devoted to the travels of the fable from India to La Fontaine. See also Mr.
Clouston, Pop. Tales, ii. 432 seq. I have translated the Hebrew version in my
essay, "Jewish Influence on the Diffusion of Folk-Tales," pp. 6--7. Our
proverb, "Do not count your chickens before they are hatched," is ultimately
to be derived from India.

Remarks.--The stories of Alnaschar, the Barber's fifth brother in the Arabian

Nights, and of La Perette, who counted her chickens before they were
hatched, in La Fontaine, are demonstrably derived from the same Indian
original from which our story was obtained. The travels of the "Fables of
Bidpai" from India to Europe are well known and distinctly traceable. I have
given a rough summary of the chief critical results in the introduction to my
edition of the earliest English version of, the Fables of Bidpai, by Sir Thomas
North, of Plutarch fame (London, D. Nutt, "Bibliothèque de Carabas," 1888),
where I have given an elaborate genealogical table of the multitudinous
versions. La Fontaine's version, which has rendered the fable so familiar to
us all, comes from Bonaventure des Periers, Contes et Nouvelles, who got it
from the Dialogus Creaturarum of Nicholaus Pergamenus, who derived it
 212

from the Sermones of Jacques de Vitry (see Prof. Crane's edition, No., li.),
who probably derived it from the Directorium Humanae Vita of John of
Capua, a converted Jew, who translated it from the Hebrew version of the
Arabic Kalilah wa Dimnah, which was itself derived from the old Syriac
version of a Pehlevi translation of the original Indian work, probably called
after Karataka and Damanaka, the names of two jackals who figure in the
earlier stories of the book. Prof. Rhys-Davids informs me that these names
are more akin to Pali than to Sanskrit, which makes it still more probable
that the whole literature is ultimately to be derived from a Buddhist source.

The theme of La Perette is of interest as showing the literary transmission of

tales from Orient to Occident. It also shows the possibility of an influence of
literary on oral tradition, as is shown by our proverb, and by the fact, which
Benfey mentions, that La Fontaine's story has had influence on two of
Grimm's tales, Nos. 164, 168.

VI. THE MAGIC FIDDLE.

Source.--A. Campbell, Santal Folk Tales, 1892, pp. 52 - 6, with some verbal
alterations. A Bonga is the presiding spirit of a certain kind of rice land;
Doms and Hadis are low-caste aborigines, whose touch is considered
polluting. The Santals are a forest tribe, who live in the Santal Parganas, 140
miles N.W. of Calcutta (Sir W. W. Hunter, The Indian Empire, 57 - 60).

Parallels.--Another version occurs in Campbell, p. 106 seq., which shows that

the story is popular among the Santals. It is obvious, however, that neither
version contains the real finish of the story, which must have contained the
denunciation of the magic fiddle of the murderous sisters. This would bring
it under the formula of The Singing Bone, which M. Monseur has recently
been studying with a remarkable collection of European variants in the
Bulletin of the Wallon Folk-Lore Society of Liege (cf Eng. Fairy Tales, No. ix.).
There is a singing bone in Steel-Temple's Wideawake Stories, pp. 127 seq. ("
Little Anklebone ").

Remarks.--Here we have another theme of the common store of European

folk-tales found in India. Unfortunately, the form in which it occurs is
mutilated, and we cannot draw any definite conclusion from it.
 213

VII. THE CRUEL CRANE OUTWITTED.

Source.--The Baka-Jataka, Fausböll, No. 38, tr. Rhys-Davids, pp. 315--21. The
Buddha this time is the Genius of the Tree.

Parallels.--This Jataka got into the Bidpai literature, and occurs in all its
multitudinous offshoots (see Benfey, Einleilung, § 6o) among others in the
earliest English translation by North (my edition, pp. 118--22), where the
crane becomes "a great Paragone of India (of those that liue a hundredth
yeares and neuer mue their feathers)." The crab, on hearing the ill news
"called to Parliament all the Fishes of the Lake," and before all are devoured
destroys the Paragon, as in the Jataka, and returned to the remaining fishes,
who "all with one consent give hir many a thanke."

Remarks.--An interesting point, to which I have drawn attention in my

Introduction to North's Bidpai, is the probability that the illustrations of the
tales as well as the tales themselves, were translated, so to speak, from one,
country to another. We can trace them in Latin, Hebrew, and Arabic MSS.,
and a few are extant on Buddhist Stupas. Under these circumstances, it may
be of interest to compare with Mr. Batten's conception of the Crane and the
Crab that of the German artist who illustrated the first edition of the Latin
Bidpai, probably following the traditional representations of the MS., which
itself could probably trace back to India.
 214

VIII. LOVING LAILI

Source.--Miss Stokes, Indian Fairy Tales, pp. 73--84. Majnun and Laili are
conventional names for lovers, the Romeo and Juliet of Hindostan.

Parallels.--Living in animals' bellies occurs elsewhere in Miss Stokes' book,

pp. 66, 124; also in Miss Frere's, 188. The restoration of beauty by fire occurs
as a frequent theme (Temple, Analysis, III. vi. f. p. 418). Readers will be
reminded of the dénouement of Mr. Rider Haggard's She.Resuscitation from
ashes has been used very effectively by Mr. Lang in his delightful Prince
Prigio.

Remarks.--The white skin and blue eyes of Prince Majnun deserve attention.
They are possibly a relic of the days of Aryan conquest, when the fair-
skinned, fair-haired Aryan conquered the swarthier aboriginals. The name
for caste in Sanskrit is varna, "colour"; and one Hindu cannot insult another
more effectually than by calling him a black man. Cf. Stokes, pp. 238--9, who
suggests that the red hair is something solar, and derived from myth's of the
solar hero.

IX. THE TIGER, THE BRAHMAN, AND THE JACKAL

Source.--Steel-Temple, Wideawake Stories, pp. 116--20; first published

in Indian Antiquary, xii. p. 170 seq.

Parallels.--No less than 94 parallels are given by Prof. K. Krohn in his

elaborate discussion of this fable in his dissertation, Mann und
Fuchs (Helsingfors, 1891), pp. 38--60; to which may be added three Indian
variants, omitted by him, but mentioned by Capt Temple, l.c.., p. 324 in the
Bhdgavata Purana, the Gui Bakaoli and Ind. Ant xii. 177; and a couple more in
my Aesop, p. 253: add Smeaton, Karens, p. 126.

Remarks.--Prof. Krohn comes to the conclusion that the majority of the oral
forms of the tale come from literary versions (p. 47), whereas
the Reynard form has only had influence on a single variant. He reduces the
century of variants to three type forms. The first occurs in two Egyptian
versions collected in the present day, as well as in Petrus Alphonsi in the
twelfth century, and the Fabulae Extravagantes of the thirteenth or
fourteenth: here the ingrate animal is a crocodile, which asks to be carried
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away from a river about to dry up, and there is only one judge. The second is
that current in India and represented by the story in the present collection:
here the judges are three. The third is that current among Western
Europeans, which has spread to S. Africa and N. and S. America: also three
judges. Prof. K. Krohn counts the first the original form, owing to the single
judge and the naturalness of the opening, by which the critical situation is
brought about. The further question arises, whether this form, though
found in Egypt now, is indigenous there, and if so, how it got to the East.
Prof. Krohn grants the possibility of the Egyptian form having been invented
in lndia and carried to Egypt, and he allows that the European forms have
been influenced by the Indian. The "Egyptian" form is found in Burmah
(Smeaton, l.c., p. 128), as well as the Indian, a fact of which Prof. H. Krohn
was unaware, though it turns his whole argument. The evidence we have of
other folk-tales of the beast-epic emanating from India improves the
chances of this also coming from that source. One thing at least is certain: all
these hundred variants come ultimately from one source. The incident
"Inside again" of the Arabian Nights (the Djinn and the bottle) and European
tales is also a secondary derivate.

X. THE SOOTHSAYER'S SON.

Source.--Mrs. Kingscote, Tales of the Sun (p. 11 seq.), from Pandit Natesa
Sastri's Folk-Lore of Southern India, pt. ii., originally from Ind. Antiquary. I
have considerably condensed and modified the somewhat Babu English of
the original.

Parallels.--See Benfey, Pantschatantra, § 71, i. pp. 193--222, who quotes

the Kama Jataka as the ultimate source: it also occurs in the Saccankira
jataka (Fausböll, No. 73), trans. Rev. R. Morris, Folk-Lore jour. iii. 348 seq. The
story of the ingratitude of man compared with the gratitude of beasts came
early to the West, where it occurs in the Gesta Romanorum, c. 119., It was
possibly from an early form of this collection that Richard Coeur de Lion got
the story, and used it to rebuke the ingratitude of the English nobles on his
return in 1195. Matthew Paris tells the story, sub anno (it is an addition of his
to Ralph Disset), Hist. Major,ed. Luard, ii. 413--6, how a lion and a serpent and
a Venetian named Vitalis were saved from a pit by a woodman, Vitalis
promising him half his fortune, fifty talents. The lion brings his benefactor a
 216

leveret, the serpent "gemmam pretiosam," probably 'the precious jewel in

his head" to which Shakespeare alludes (As You Like It, ii. 1, cf Benfey, I. c., p.
214, n.), but Vitalis refuses to have anything to do with him, and altogether
repudiates the fifty talents. "Haec referebat Rex Richardus munificus,
ingratos redarguendo."

Remarks.---Apart from the interest of its wide travels, and its appearance in
the standard mediaeval History of England by Matthew Paris, the modern
story shows the remarkable persistence of folk-tales in the popular mind.
Here we have collected from the Hindu peasant of today a tale which was
probably told before Buddha, over two thousand years ago, and certainly
included among the Jatakas before the Christian era. The same thing has
occurred with The Tiger, Brahman and jackal (No. ix. supra).

XI. HARISARMAN.

Source .--Somadeva, Kathit-Sarit.-Sagara, trans. Tawney (Calcutta, 1880), i.

pp. 272--4. I have slightly toned down the inflated style of the original.

Parallels.--Benfey has collected and discussed a number in Orient and

Occident, i. 371 seq.; see also Tawney, ad loc. The most remarkable of the
parallels is that afforded by the Grimms' "Doctor Aliwissend" (No. 98),
which extends even to such a minute point as his exclamation, "Ach, ich
armer Krebs," whereupon a crab is discovered under a dish. The usual form
of discovery of the thieves is for the Dr. Knowall to have so many days given
him to discover the thieves, and at the end of the first day he calls out,
"There's one of them," meaning the days, just as one of the thieves peeps
through at him. Hence the title and the plot of C. Lever's One of Them.

XII. THE CHARMED RING.

Source.--Knowles, Folk-Tales of Kashmir, pp. 20-8.

Parallels.--The incident of the Aiding Animals. is frequent in folk-tales; see

bibliographical references, sub voce, in my List of Incidents, Trans. Folk-Lore
Congress, p. 88; also Knowles, 21, n.; and Temple, Wideawake Stories, pp.
401, 412. The Magic Ring is also "common form" in folk-
tales; cf Köhler ap. Marie de France, Lais, ed. Warncke, p. lxxxiv. And the
whole story is to be found very widely spread from India (Wideawake
 217

Stories, pp. 196--206) to England (Eng. Fairy Tales, No. xvii., "Jack and his
Golden Snuff-box," cf. Notes, ibid.), the most familiar form of it being
"Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp."

Remarks.--M. Cosquin has pointed out (Contes de Lorraine,p.xi. seq.) that the
incident of the rat's-tail-up-nose to recover the ring from the stomach of an
ogress, is found among Arabs, Albanians, Bretons, and Russians. It is
impossible to imagine that incident--occurring in the same series of
incidents--to have been invented more than once, and if that part of the
story has been borrowed from India, there is no reason why the whole of it
should not have arisen in India, and have been spread to the West. The
English variant was derived from an English Gipsy, and suggests the
possibility that for this particular story the medium of transmission has been
the Gipsies. This contains the incident of the loss of the ring by the faithful
animal, which again could not have been independently invented.

XIII. THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE.

Source.--The Kacchapa Jataka, Fausböll, No. 215 also in his Five Jatakas, pp. 16,
41, tr. Rhys-Davids, pp. viii.--x.
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Parallels.--It occurs also in the Bidpai literature, in nearly all its multitudinous
offshoots. See Benfey, Einleitung, § 84; also my Bidptai, E, 4. a; and North's
text, pp. 170 - 5, where it is the taunts of the other birds that cause the
catastrophe: "O here is a brave sight, looke, here is a goodly ieast, what
bugge haue we here," said some. "See, see, fhe hangeth by the throte, and
therefor fhe fpeaketh not," saide others; "and the beast flieth not like a
beast;" so she opened her mouth and "pafhte hir all to pieces."

Remarks.--I have reproduced in my edition the original illustration of the first

English Bidpai, itself derived from the Italian block. A replica of it here may
serve to show that it could be used equally well to illustrate the Pali original
as its English great-great-great-great-great-great grand-child.

XIV. LAC OF RUPEES.

Source--Knowles, Folk-Tales of Kashmir, pp. 32--4I. I have reduced the pieces

of advice to three, and curtailed somewhat.

Parallels - See Celtic Fairy Tales, No. xxii., "Tale of Ivan," from the old Cornish,
now extinct, and notes ibid. Mr. Clouston points out (Pop. Tales, ii. 3:9) that
it occurs in Buddhist literature, in "Buddaghoshas Parables," as "The Story
of Kulla Pauthaka."

Remarks.--It is indeed curious to find the story better told in Cornwall than in
the land of its birth, but there can be little doubt that the Buddhist version is
the earliest and original form of the story. The piece of advice was originally
a charm, in which a youth was to say to himself, "Why are you busy? Why are
you busy?" He does so when thieves are about, and so saves the king's
treasures, of which he gets an appropriate share. It would perhaps be as
well if many of us should say to ourselves, " Ghatesa, ghatesa, kim karana?"

XV. THE GOLD-GIVING SERPENT.

Source.--Pantschatantra, III. v., tr. Benfey, ii. 244--7.

Parallels given in my .Aesop, Ro. ii. 10, p. 40. The chief points about them are-
-(1) though the tale does not exist in either Phaedrus or Babrius, it occurs in
prose derivates from the Latin by Ademar, 65, and "Romulus," ii. 10, and
from Greek, in Gabrias, 45, and the prose Aesop, ed. Halm, 96; Gitlbauer has
 219

restored the Babrian form in his edition of Babrius, No. 160. (2) The fable
occurs among folk-tales Grimm, 105; Woycicki, Poln. Mähr. 105;
Gering, Islensk. Aevent. 59, possibly derived from La Fontaine, x. 12.

Remarks.--Benfey has proved most ingeniously and conclusively (Einl. i. 359)

that the Indian fable is the source of both Latin and Greek fables. I may
borrow from my Aesop, p. 93, parallel abstracts of the three versions,
putting Benfey's results in a graphic form, series of bars indicating the
passages where the classical fables have failed to preserve the original.

Bidpai

A Brahmin once observed a snake in his field, and thinking it the tutelary
spirit of the field, he offered it a libation of milk in a bowl. Next day he finds
a piece of gold in the bowl, and he recieves this each day after offering the
libation. One day he had to go else-where, and he sent his son with the
libation. The son sees the gold, and thinking the serpent's hole full of
treasure determines to slay the snake. He strikes at its head with a cudgel,
and the enraged serpent stings him to death. The Brahmin mourns his son's
death, but next morning as usual brings the libation of milk (in the hope of
getting the gold as before). The serpent appears after a long delay at the
mouth of the lair, and declares their friendship at an end, as it could not
forget the blow of the Brahmin's son, nor the Brahmin his son's death, from
the bite of the snake.
Pants. III. v. (Benf. 244 - 7)

Phaedrine.

... A good man had become friendly with the snake, who came into his house
and brought luck with it, so that the man became rich through it ... One day
he struck the serpent, which disappeared, and with it the man's riches. The
good man tries to make it up, but the serpent declares their friendship at an
end, as it could not forget the blow. ...
Phaed. Dressl. VII. 28 (Rom. II. xi.)

Babrian
...........
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A serpent stung a farmer's son to death. The father pursued the serpent
with an axe, and struck off part of its tail. Afterwards fearing its vengence
he brought food and honey to its lair, and begged reconciliation. The
serpent, however, declares friendship impossible, as it could not forget the
blow ... nor the farmer his son's death from the bite of the snake.
Aesop, Halm 96b (Babrius-Gitlb. 160)

In the Indian fable every step of the action is thoroughly justified whereas
the Latin form does not explain why the snake was friendly in the first
instance, or why the good man was enraged afterwards; and the Greek form
starts abruptly, without explaining why the serpent had killed the farmer's
Son. Make a composite of the Phaedrine and Babrian forms, and you get the
Indian one, which is thus shown to be the original of both.

XVI. THE SON OF SEVEN QUEENS.

Source.--Steel-Temple, Wideawake Stories, pp. 98--110, originally published

in Ind. Antiq. x. 147 seq.

Parallels.--A long variant follows in Ind. Antiq., l. c. M. Cosquin refers to

several Oriental variants, I. c. p. xxx. n. For the direction tabu, see Note on
Princess Labam, supra, No. ii. The "letter to kill bearer" and "letter
substituted" are frequent in both European (see my List, s. v.) and Indian
Folk-Tales (Temple, Analysis, II. iv. b, 6, p. 410). The idea of a son of seven
mothers could only arise in a polygamous country. It occurs in
"Punchkin," supra, No. iv.; Day, Folk-Tales of Bengal, 117 seq.; Ind. Antiq. i. 170
(Temple, l. c., 398).

Remarks.--M. Cosquin (Contes de Lorraine, p. xxx.) points out how, in a

Sicilian story, Gonzenbach (Sizil. Mähr. No. 80), the seven co-queens are
transformed into seven step-daughters of the envious witch who causes
their eyes to be taken out; It is thus probable, though M. Cosquin does not
point this out, that the "envious stepmother" of folk-tales (see my List, s.
v.) was originally an envious co-wife. But there can be little doubt of what M.
Cosquin does point out--viz., that the Sicilian story is derived from the Indian
one.

XVII. A LESSON FOR KINGS.

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Source.--Rajovada Jataka, Fausböll, No. 151, tr. Rhys-Davids, pp. xxii.--vi.

Remarks.--This is one of the earliest of moral allegories in existence. The

moralising tone of the Jatakas must be conspicuous to all reading them.
Why, they can moralise even the Tar Baby (see infra, Note on "Demon with
the Matted Hair," No. xxv.).

XVIII. PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL.

Source.--Kingscote, Tales of the Sun. I have changed the Indian mercantile

numerals into those of English "back-slang," which make a very good
parallel.

XIX. RAJA RASALU.

Source.--Steel-Temple, Wideawake Stories, pp. 247 - 80, omitting "How Raja

Rasalu was Born," "How Raja Rasalu's Friends Forsook Him," "How Raja
Rasalu Killed the Giants," and "How Raja Rasalu became a Jogi." A further
version in Temple, Legends of Panjab, vol. i. Chaupur, I should explain, is a
game played by two players with eight men, each on a board in the shape of
a cross, four men to each cross covered with squares. The moves of the men
are decided by the throws of a long form of dice. The object of the game is
to see which of the players can first move all his men into the black centre
square of the cross (Temple, l. c., p. 344, and Legends of Panjab, i. 243--5). It is
sometimes said to be the origin of chess.

Parallels.--Rev. C. Swynnerton, "Four Legends about Raja Rasalu," in Folk-

Lore Journal, p. 158 seq., also in separate book much enlarged, The
Adventures of Raja Rasalu, Calcutta, 1884. Curiously enough, the real interest
of the story comes after the end of our part of it, for Kokilan, when she
grows up, is married to Raja Rasalu, and behaves as sometimes youthful
wives behave to elderly husbands. He gives her her lover's heart to
eat, á la Decameron, and she dashes herself over the rocks. For the parallels
of this part of the legend see my edition of Painter's Palace of Pleasure,tom.
i. Tale 39, or, better, the Programm of H. Patzig, Zur Geschichte der
Herzmare (Berlin, 1891). Gambling for life occurs in Celtic and other folk-
tales; cf. my List of Incidents, s. v. "Gambling for Magic Objects."
 222

Remarks.--Raja Rasalu is possibly an historic personage, according to Capt.

Temple, Calcutta Review, 1884, p. 397, flourishing in the eighth or ninth
century. There is a place called Sirikap ka-kila in the neighbourhood of
Sialkot, the traditional seat of Rasalu on the Indus, not far from Atlock.

Herr Patzig is strongly for the Eastern origin of the romance, and finds its
earliest appearance in the West in the Anglo-Norman troubadour,
Thomas' Lar Guirun, where it becomes part of the Tristan cycle. There is, so
far as I know, no proof of the earliest part of the Rasalu legend (our part)
coming to Europe, except the existence of the gambling incidents of the
same kind in Celtic and other folk-tales.

XX. THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN.

Source.--The Siha Camma Jataka, Fausböll, No. 189, trans. Rhys-Davids, pp. v.
vi.

Parallels.--It also occurs in Somadeva, Katha .Sarit Sagara, ed. Tawney, ii. 65,
and n. For Aesopic parallels, cf. my Aesop, Av. iv. It is in Babrius. ed. Gitlbaur,
218 (from Greek prose Aesop, ed. HaIm, No. 323), and Avian, ed. Eilis, 5,
whence it came into the modern Aesop.

Remarks.--Avian wrote towards the end of the third century; and put into
Latin mainly those portions of Babrius which are unparalleled by Phaedrus.
Consequently, as I have shown, he has a much larger proportion of Eastern
elements than Phaedrus. There can be little doubt that the Ass in the Lion's
Skin is from India. As Prof. Rhys-Davids remarks, the Indian form gives a
plausible motive for the masquerade which is wanting in the ordinary
Aesopic version.

XXI. THE FARMER AND THE MONEY-LENDER.

Source.--Steel-Temple, Wideawake Stories, pp. 215--18.

Parallels enumerated in my Aesop, Av. xvii. See also Jacques de

Vitry, Exempla, ed. Crane, No. 196 (see notes, p. 212), and Bozon, Contes
moralisés, No. 112. It occurs in Avian. ed. Ellis, No. 22. Mr. Kipling has a very
similar tale in his Life's Handicap.
 223

Remarks.--Here we have collected in modern India what one cannot help

thinking is the Indian original of a fable of Avian. The preceding number
showed one of his fables existing among the Jatakas, probably before the
Christian era. This makes it likely that we shall find an earlier Indian original
of the fable of the Avaricious and Envious, perhaps among the Jatakas still
untranslated.

XXII. THE BOY WITH MOON ON FOREHEAD.

Source.--Miss Stokes' Indian Fairy Tales, No. 20, pp. 119 - 137.

Parallels to heroes and heroines in European fairy tales, with stars on their
foreheads, are given with some copiousness in Stokes, l. c., pp. 242--3. This is
an essentially Indian trait; almost all Hindus have some tribal or caste mark
on their bodies or faces. The choice of the hero disguised as a menial is also
common property of Indian and European fairy tales: see Stokes, l.c., p. 231,
and my List of Incidents (s. v. "Mental Disguise").

XXIII. THE PRINCE AND THE FAKIR.

Source.--Kindly communicated by Mr. .M. L. Dames from his unpublished

collection of Baluchi tales.

Remarks.- Unholy fakirs are rather rare. See Temple, Analysis, I. ii. a, p. 394.

XXIV. WHY THE FISH LAUGHED.

Source.--Knowles, Folk-Tales of Kashmir, pp 484--90.

Parallels.--The latter part is the formula of the Clever Lass who guesses
riddles. She has been bibliographised by Prof. Child, Eng. and Scotch'
Ballads, i. 485; see also Benfey, Kl. Schr. ii. 156 seq. The sex test at the end is
different from any of those enumerated by Prof. Kohler on
Gonzenbach, Sezil. Mahr. ii. 216.

Remarks.--Here we have a further example of a whole formula, or series of

incidents, common to most European collections, found in India, and in a
quarter, too, where European influence is little likely to penetrate. Prof.
Benfey, in an elaborate dissertation (" Die Kluge Dime," in Ausland,1859,
Nos. 20--25, now reprinted in Kl. Sckr. ii. 156 seq.), has shown the wide spread
 224

of the theme both in early Indian literature (though probably there derived
from the folk) and in modern European folk literature.

XXV. THE DEMON WITH THE MATTED HAIR.

Source.--The Pancavudha-Jataka, Fausböll, No. 55, kindly translated for this

book by Mr. W. H. D. Rouse, of Christ's College, Cambridge. There is a brief
abstract of the Jataka in Prof. Estlin Carpenter's sermon, Three Ways of
Salvation, 1884, p. 27, where my attention was first called to this Jataka.

Parallels.--Most readers of these Notes will remember the central episode of

Mr. J. C. Harris' Uncle Remus, in which Brer Fox, annoyed at Brer Rabbit's
depredations, fits up "a contrapshun, what he calls a Tar Baby." Brer Rabbit
coming along that way, passes the time of day with Tar Baby, and, annoyed
at its obstinate silence, hits it with right fist and with left, with left fist and
with right, which successively stick to the "contrapshun," till at last he butts
with his bead, and that sticks too, whereupon Brer Fox, who all this time had
"lain low," saunters out, and complains of Brer Rabbit that lie is too stuck
up. In the sequel Brer Rabbit begs Brer Fox that he may "drown me as deep
ez you please, skin me, scratch out my eyeballs, tar out my years by the
roots, en cut off my legs, but don't fling me in dat brier patch;" which, of
course, Brer Fox does, only to be informed by the cunning Brer Rabbit that
he had been "bred en bawn in a brier patch." The story is a favourite one
with the negroes: it occurs in Col. Jones' Negro Myths of the Georgia
Coast (Uncle Remus is from S. Carolina), also among those of Brazil
(Romero, Contos do Brazil), and in the West Indian Islands (Mr. Lang, "At the
Sign of the Ship, Longman's Magazine, Feb. 1889). We can trace it to Africa,
where it occurs in Cape Colony (South African Folk-Lore Journal; vol. i.).

Remarks.--The fivefold attack on the Demon and the Tar Baby is so

preposterously ludicrous that it cannot have been independently invented,
and we must therefore assume that they are casually connected, and the
existence of the variant in South Africa clinches the matter, and gives us a
landing-stage between India and America. There can be little doubt that the
Jataka of Prince Five Weapons came to Africa, possibly by Buddhist
missionaries, spread among the negroes, and then took ship in the holds of
slavers for the New World, where it is to be found in fuller form than any yet
 225

discovered in the home of its birth. I say Buddhist missionaries, because

there is a certain amount of evidence that the negroes have Buddhistic
symbols among them, and we can only explain the identification of Brer
Rabbit with Prince Five Weapons, and so with Buddha himself, by supposing
the change to have originated among Buddhists, where it would be quite
natural. For one of the most celebrated metempsychoses of Buddha is that
detailed in the Sasa Jataka (Fausböll, No. 316, tr. R. Morris, Folk-Lore
Journal, ii. 336), in which the Buddha, as a hare, performs a sublime piece of
self-sacrifice, and as a reward is translated to the moon, where he can be
seen to this day as "the hare in the moon." Every Buddhist is reminded of
the virtue of self-sacrifice whenever the moon is full, and it is easy to
understand how the Buddha became identified as the Hare or Rabbit. A
striking confirmation of this, in connection with our immediate subject, is
offered by Mr. Harris' sequel volume, Nights with Uncle Remus. Here there is
a whole chapter (xxx.) on "Brer Rabbit and his famous Foot," and it is well
known how the worship of Buddha's foot developed in later Buddhism. No
wonder Brer Rabbit is so 'cute: he is nothing less than an incarnation of
Buddha. Among the Karens of Burmah, where Buddhist influence is still
active, the Hare holds exactly the same place in their folk-lore as Brer Rabbit
among the negroes. The sixth chapter of Mr. Smeaton's book on them is
devoted to "Fireside Stories," and is entirely taken up with adventures of
the Hare, all of which can be paralleled from Uncle Remus.

Curiously enough, the negro form of the fivefold attack--" fighting with five
fists," Mr. Barr would call it--is probably nearer to the original legend than
that preserved in 'the Jataka, though 2000 years older. For we may be sure
that the thunderbolt of Knowledge did not exist in the original, but was
introduced by some Buddhist Mr. Barlow, who, like Alice's Duchess, ended
all his tales with: "And the moral of that is--" For no well-bred demon would
have been taken in by so simple a "sell" as that indulged in by Prince Five-
Weapons in our Jataka, and it is probable, therefore, thatUncle
Remus preserves a reminiscence of the original Indian reading of the tale. On
the other hand, it is probable that Carlyle's Indian god with the fire in his
belly was derived from Prince Five-Weapons.
 226

The negro variant has also suggested to Mr. Batten an explanation of the
whole story, which is extremely plausible, though it introduces a method of
folk-lore exegesis which has been overdriven to death. The Sasa
Jataka identifies the Brer Rabbit Buddha with the hare in the moon. It is well
known that Easterns explain an eclipse of the moon as due to its being
swallowed up by a Dragon or Demon. May not, asks Mr. Batten,
the Pancavudha-Jataka be an idealised account of an eclipse of the moon?
This suggestion receives strong confirmation from the Demon's reference to
Rahu, who does, in Indian myth, swallow the moon at times of eclipse. The
Jataka accordingly contains the Buddhist explanation why the moon--i.e. the
hare in the moon, i.e. Buddha--is not altogether swallowed up by the Demon
of Eclipse, the Demon with the Matted Hair. Mr. Batten adds that in
imagining what kind of Demon the Eclipse Demon was, the Jataka writer
was probably aided by recollections of some giant octopus, who has saucer
eyes and a kind of hawk's beak, knobs on its "tusks," and a very variegated
belly (gasteropod). It is obviously unfair of Mr. Batten both to illustrate and
also to explain so well the Tar Baby Jataka--taking the scientific bread, so to
speak, out of a poor folk-lorist's mouth--but his explanations seem to me so
convincing that I cannot avoid including them in these Notes.

I am, however, not so much concerned with the original explanation of the
Jataka as to trace its travels across the continents of Asia, Africa, and
America. I think I have done this satisfactorily, and will have thereby largely
strengthened the case for less extensive travels of other tales. I have
sufficient confidence of the method employed to venture on that most
hazardous of employments, scientific prophecy. I venture to predict that the
Tar Baby story will be found in Madagascar in a form nearer the Indian than
Uncle Remus, and I will go further, and say that it will not be found in the
grand Helsingfors collection of folk-tales, though this includes 12,000, of
which 1000 are beast-tales.

XXVI. THE IVORY PALACE.

Source.--Knowles, Folk-Tales of Kashmir, pp. 211--25, with some slight

omissions. Gulizar is Persian for rosy-checked.
 227

Parallels.--Stokes, Indian Fairy Tales, No. 27. "Panwpatti Rani," pp. 208--15, is
the same story. Another version in the collection Baital Pacidsi, No. 1.

Remarks.--The themes of love by mirror, and the faithful friend, are common
European, though the calm attempt at poisoning is perhaps
characteristically Indian, and reads like a page from Mr. Kipling.

XXVII. SUN, MOON, AND WIND.

Source.--Miss Frere, Old Deccan Days, No. 10, pp. 153--5.

Remarks.--Miss Frere observes that she has not altered the traditional mode
of the Moon's conveyance of dinner to her mother the Star, though it must,
she fears, impair the value of the story as a moral lesson in the eyes of all
instructors of youth.

XXVIII. HOW WICKED SONS WERE DUPED.

Source.--Knowles, Folk-Tales of Kashmir, pp. 241--2.

Parallels.--A Gaelic parallel was given by Campbell in Trans. Ethnol. Soc., ii. p.
336; an Anglo-Latin one from the Middle Ages by T. Wright in Latin
Stories (Percy Soc.), No. 26; and for these and points of anthropological
interest in the Celtic variant see Mr. Gomme's article in Folk-Lore, i. pp. 197--
206, "A Highland Folk-Tale and its Origin in Custom."

Remarks.--Mr. Gomme is of opinion that the tale arose from certain rhyming
formulae occurring in the Gaelic and Latin tales as written on a mallet left by
the old man in the box opened after his death. The rhymes are to the effect
that a father who gives up his wealth to his children in his own lifetime
deserves to be put to death with the mallet Mr. Gomme gives evidence that
it was an archaic custom to put oldsters to death after they had become
helpless. He also points out that it was customary for estates to be divided
and surrendered during the owners' lifetime, and generally he connects a
good deal of primitive custom with our story. I have already pointed out
in Folk-Lore, p. 403, that the existence of the tale in Kashmir without any
reference to the mallet makes it impossible for the rhymes on the mallet to
be the source of the story. As a matter of fact, it is a very embarrassing
addition to it, since the rhyme tells against the parent, and the story is
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intended to tell against the ungrateful children. The existence of the tale in
India renders it likely enough that it is not indigenous to the British Isles, but
an Oriental importation. It is obvious, therefore, that it cannot be used as
anthropological evidence of the existence of the primitive customs to be
found ip it. The whole incident, indeed, is a striking example of the dangers
of the anthropological met-hod of dealing with folk-tales before some
attempt is made to settle the questions of origin and diffusion.

XXIX. THE PIGEON AND THE CROW.

Source.--The Lola Jataka, Fausböll, No. 274, kindly translated and slightly
abridged for this book by Mr. W. H. D. Rouse.

Remarks.--We began with an animal Jataka, and may appropriately finish

with one which shows how effectively the writers of the Jatakas could
represent animal folk, and how terribly moral they invariably were in their
tales. I should perhaps add that the Bodhisat is not precisely the Buddha
himself but a character which is on its way to becoming perfectly
enlightened, and so may be called a future Buddha.