THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OF SIMLA VILLAGE

TALES; OR, FOLK TALES FROM THE HIMALAYAS

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Title: Simla Village Tales; Or, Folk Tales from the Himalayas

Author: Alice Dracott

Release date: February 3, 2019 [eBook #58816]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIMLA VILLAGE

TALES; OR, FOLK TALES FROM THE HIMALAYAS ***
SIMLA VILLAGE TALES
 [Frontispiece.
A SIMLA VILLAGE WOMAN

From a Snapshot by A. E. D.
SIMLA VILLAGE TALES
OR, FOLK TALES FROM THE

HIMALAYAS

BY ALICE ELIZABETH DRACOTT

LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE
 STREET, W.
1906

TO THE ONE I LOVE BEST.

 PREFACE
In introducing “Simla Village Tales” to my readers, I wish to acknowledge
gratefully the valuable assistance given me by my sister Mabel Baldwin,
who, when I was obliged to leave India suddenly owing to nervous
breakdown after the terrible earthquake which visited the Punjaub in April
1905, kindly undertook to complete, from the same sources where I had got
them, my collection of folk-tales. Twenty excellent stories contributed by her
include “Tabaristan,” “The Priest and the Barber,” “The Fourth Wife is
Wisest,” and “Abul Hussain.”

Of the down-country tales my husband kindly contributed “Anar Pari,” “The

Dog Temple,” “The Beautiful Milkmaid,” and “The Enchanted Bird, Music,
and Stream.” Both my sister and my husband can speak the language
fluently, and as the former has resided many years in the Punjaub, I am
confident that her translations are as literal as my own. All the tales were
taken down in pencil, just as they were told, and as nearly as possible in the
words of the narrators, who were village women belonging to the agricultural
class of Hindus in the Simla district.

I must add a word of thanks to Mr Hallam Murray for his invaluable

assistance with the illustrations.

In one or two instances I was asked if I would allow a Paharee man, well
versed in local folk-lore, to relate a few stories to me; but, for obvious
reasons, I was obliged to decline the offer, for many Simla Village tales
related to me by women, and not included in this book, were grotesquely
unfit for publication.
The typical Paharee woman is, as a rule, extremely good-looking, and a born
flirt; she has a pleasant, gay manner, and can always see a joke; people who
wish to chaff her discover an adept at repartee.

The “Simla Village Woman,” whose photograph is reproduced, is a very

good type. I found her most gentle and lovable. Her little boy, and last
surviving child, has died since the photograph was taken last year, yet the
young mother bears all her griefs with a fortitude which is really remarkable.

Himalayan folk-lore, with its beauty, wit, and mysticism, is a most

fascinating study, and makes one grieve to think that the day is fast
approaching when the honest rugged hill-folk of Northern India will lose
their fireside tales under the influence of modern civilisation.

The hurry and rush of official life in India’s Summer Capital leaves no time
for the song of birds or scent of flowers; these, like the ancient and exquisite
fireside tales of its people, have been hustled away into distant valleys and
remote villages, where, on cold winter nights, Paharees, young and old,
gather together to hear these oft-repeated tales.

From their cradle under the shade of ancient deodars, beside the rocks, forests
and streams of the mighty Himalayan mountains, have I sought these tales to
place them upon the great Bookshelf of the World.

A. E. D.
 CONTENTS
PAGE
THE CAUSE OF A LAWSUIT BETWEEN THE OWL AND THE
KITE 1
A MONKEY OBJECTS TO CRITICISM 2
THE DEAD MAN’S RING 3
THE ORIGIN OF DEATH 5
THE REAL MOTHER 6
THE PRINCESS SOORTHE 12
THE SNAKE’S BRIDE 15
THE POWER OF FATE 20
THE OLD WITCH WHO LIVED IN A FOREST 31
KULLOO, A FAITHFUL DOG 36
THE STORY OF GHOSE 40
THE VIZIER’S SON AND THE RAJAH’S SON 46
THE RAJAH’S SON AND THE VIZIER’S SON 49
BEY HUSLO 53
THE STORY OF PANCH MAR KHAN 56
THE RABBIT AND THE BARBER 59
RUPA AND BISUNTHA 61
SHEIK CHILLI 68
SHEIK CHILLI 70
THE MONKEY, THE TIGER, AND THE PRINCESS 75
THE JACKAL AND THE GUANA 81
THE STORY OF THE BLACK COW 83
THE BRAHMIN AND THE WILD GEESE 88
THE FOUR-GIFTED PRINCESS 93
THE MAN WHO WENT TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE 96
THREE WISE MEN AND THE KING’S DAUGHTER 101
BARBIL’S SON 104
THE TIGER AND THE RATS 107
THE ADVENTURES OF A BIRD 109
THE LEGEND OF NALDERA TEMPLE 111
THE BUNNIAH’S WIFE AND THE THIEF 113
WHO STOLE THE RUBY? 115
THE STORY OF VICKRAMADIT 119
THE WEAVER 125
THE DOG WHO WAS A RAJAH 132
THE FOURTH WIFE IS THE WISEST 135
THE STORY OF PIR SAB 141
THE ORIGIN OF A RIVER 145
THE GOLDEN SCORPIONS 148
THE STORY OF A PEARL 150
THE BUNNIAH’S GHOST 152
BICKERMANJI THE INQUISITIVE 155
THE BRAHMIN’S DAUGHTER 163
ABUL HUSSAIN 166
THE MAGICIAN AND THE MERCHANT 174
THE SNAKE AND THE FROG 180
THE BARBER AND THE THIEF 184
THE STORY OF “PURAN” 186
TABARISTAN 194
THE PAINTED JACKAL 198
THE ENCHANTED BIRD, MUSIC, AND STREAM 200
THE DOG TEMPLE 213
THE BEAUTIFUL MILKMAID 216
A REMEDY FOR SNAKE-BITE 218
A LEGEND OF SARDANA 220
THE STORY OF “BUNJARA TULLAO” 224
THE ANAR PARI, OR POMEGRANATE FAIRY 226
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
A SIMLA VILLAGE WOMAN From a Snapshot by A. E. D.
Frontispiece.
THE SNAKE’S BRIDE To face page 16
“Sukkia, child of Dukhia, will you marry me?”
THE POWER OF FATE 20
Took out the fan and began to wave it.
THE OLD WITCH WHO LIVED IN A FOREST 32
“O Tree, shelter me!”
SHEIK CHILLI 68
“I’ve lost my goats, I’ve lost my cows!”
THE MAN WHO WENT TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE 96
While he stood there the old Fakir opened his eyes and saw him.
THE STORY OF PIR SAB 142
The old woman alone remained at home on account of her feeble age.
THE BUNNIAH’S GHOST 152
Could it be fancy, or did he see a strange man standing before him?
THE CAUSE OF A LAWSUIT BETWEEN THE OWL
AND THE KITE
The owl and the kite once went to law on these grounds. The owl said that
she was the oldest creature in the world, and that when the world was first
made, she alone existed. The kite objected. He said that he flew in the air and
lived in the trees.

To prove which was right they went to law, and the owl pleaded that, since
there were no trees at the beginning of the world, the kite was wrong in
saying that he had lived in trees. The Judge therefore decided in favour of the
owl.
 A MONKEY OBJECTS TO CRITICISM
A monkey once sat on a tree, shivering with cold, as rain was falling, and a
little bird sat in its nest on the same tree; and, as it sat, it looked at the
monkey and wondered why a creature with hands and feet like a man should
shiver in the cold, while a small bird rested in comfort.

At last it expressed its thought to the monkey, who replied: “I have not
strength to build myself a house, but I have strength to destroy yours,” and
with that he pulled to pieces the poor little bird’s nest, and turned it out with
its young.
 THE DEAD MAN’S RING
A young married woman one night listened to the jackals’ cry, and heard
them say: “Near the river lies a dead man; go and look on his finger and you
will find a ring worth nine lakhs of rupees.” She therefore rose and went to
the riverside, not knowing that her husband secretly followed in her footsteps.
Arrived there, she found the dead man, but the ring was difficult to remove,
so she drew it off with her teeth.

Her husband, who did not know she had understood and acted upon the cry of
the jackals, was horrified, and thought she was eating the flesh of the dead
man; so he returned home, and when the morning came, took his wife to her
mother, and said: “I have brought back your daughter, and refuse to live with
her any longer, lest I come to some evil end.” He gave no reason for having
thus said, and returned to his home.

In the evening his wife sat sorrowfully in the garden of her father’s house,
and the crows came to roost in the peepul trees; and as they came, they said:
“In this place are buried four boxes containing hidden treasure: dig and find
it, O my daughter.” The young girl called her parents and told them the
message of the crows. At first they laughed, but, after a while, they dug as
she directed, and found treasure which enriched the whole family. The girl
then explained the story of the dead man’s ring, and her husband gladly
forgave her and received her back.
 THE ORIGIN OF DEATH
When God first made the world, He took two handsful of ashes and placed
them in a corner and hid Himself. These became a man and a woman. God
then called the man by name, saying: “Manoo,” and the man replied, “Hoo”
instead of “Ha Jee” (Yes Life) respectfully, as he should have done.

For this reason was everlasting life denied him, and where he stood, there
were his ashes when he died. Even to this day, if a man should scratch
himself, a line of white ash of which he was made is seen. If any man
addresses another as “Jee” it is accounted to his good.
 THE REAL MOTHER
There was once a Rajah who had seven wives; six of these were rich and
dwelt in his Palace, but the seventh was poor, and lived apart in a little mud
hut by herself. The Rajah had one great sorrow, and that was that he had no
children. One day he went out to shikar (or hunt) and saw an old Fakir lying
fast asleep. He did not know that the Fakir had been asleep for twelve years;
so he pressed his hands and feet, and the old man awoke. Seeing the Rajah
sitting beside him, he thought he had been attending him for twelve years, so
he said: “What is your wish, my son?” and the Rajah said: “I have no
children. I want neither riches nor honour, but a son.” Then the old Fakir
gave him his staff, and said: “Go to yonder mango tree and hit it twice, bring
away any fruit which may fall to me.”

The first time the Rajah hit the tree only six mangoes fell, and the next time
only one; these he carefully carried to the old Fakir, who told him to take
them home, and give one each to the Ranees, and they would each have a
son.

So the Rajah returned to his Palace, and gave them to his six Ranees, but
quite forgot the poor Ranee, who lived apart by herself. The six Ranees did
not believe what the old man said, so they just tasted the fruit and then threw
it away; but when the poor Ranee heard what had happened, she told her
servant to go and look in the drain for any mangoes the others had thrown
away, and bring them to her; so the servant brought them, and she carefully
ate every one. Three months afterwards she sent for an old nurse, or dhai,
who told her that she would soon be a mother.

The Rajah was passing by when he saw the old nurse coming out of the poor
Ranee’s hut, so he made enquiries; and, when he heard the news, there were
great rejoicings in the Palace. This made the other six Ranees very angry
indeed, and they called the old dhai and told her that if, when the child was
born, she would promise to kill it, they would give her a great reward. When
the day came the wicked old dhai who was in attendance on the Ranee, said:
“Ranee, I must blindfold your eyes.” The Ranee consented, and while thus
blindfolded, became the mother of six sons and one daughter.

As soon as they were born, the old dhai carried them outside and threw them
into a hole in a potter’s field, and there left them to die, while she told the
Ranee that she had given birth to a piece of iron! The poor Ranee was terribly
disappointed, and so was the Rajah, but they submitted to what they thought
was the will of God. But the potter’s wife found the children, and as she was
childless, she carried them home and looked well after them, so that they all
lived and grew.

This came to the ears of the six Ranees, and they called the old dhai, and
said: “What is this we hear? you did not kill the children; they are alive and
living in the house of the potter, but if you listen to us and go and kill them,
we shall give you all the jewels that we possess.” So the wicked old woman
made some sweet chappatis, or hand cakes, and carried them to the well
where the children used to play every day. She found them there playing with
their toy horse and toy parrot, cheap toys made of clay by their foster-father,
the potter, and they were soon tempted to eat her sweets. No sooner had they
done this, when all seven fell down and died.

The poor potter and his wife found them thus when they came to search for
them some hours later; and, although the woman wept, the man at once set
out in search of the old Fakir, and as soon as he found him he told him what
had happened. The old Fakir cut his finger and drew some blood: this he gave
to the potter, and said: “Go quickly and sprinkle this on the children, and they
will live.”

The potter did as he was told, and the children came to life again, and went to
live with their foster-parents as before. This also came to the ears of the six
cruel Ranees, and they again called the old dhai and told her she must make
another attempt to kill the children.

This time she had some difficulty in persuading them to eat her sweets, for
they remembered what had happened before; but in the end she succeeded,
and left them all lying dead on the ground as before.

The poor potter was quite broken-hearted, and again sought help of the old
Fakir. The old Fakir said: “Son, I cannot raise the children to life in the same
way a second time, but bring them here to me.”

So he brought them, and the Fakir said: “Dig seven graves, and in the centre
an eighth grave for me, and bury us all.” This the potter did, and lo! after a
time a mango tree sprang from the grave of each brother, a beautiful rose
from the grave of the sister, and a chumpa or very sweet-flowering tree from
the grave of the old Fakir.

One day the servants of the Rajah saw these trees, and, being struck with the
beauty of the roses, went to gather some; but as they stretched out their hands
to do so, the bough raised itself beyond their reach and said: “Brothers, may I
let them gather roses?” And the brothers replied: “Ask the old Fakir.” So they
asked him, and he said: “None but thy mother may gather roses of thee.”

Much impressed by what had happened, the Rajah’s servants went and told
him all they had heard and seen, and forthwith he set out to see the trees. He
too tried to gather flowers, but found he could not do so.

Then he remembered the old Fakir and the seven mangoes, and sent at once
for his six Ranees, to see if any of them could gather the strange roses. Each
tried in turn, and the tree said as before: “Brothers, may I give roses to my
mother?” The brothers replied: “Ask the old Fakir;” but the answer was
always the same: “These are not to gather roses, they are for thy mother
alone.”

On this the Rajah sent for the poor, neglected Ranee, who, as we know, was
the real mother; and as soon as she came, the rose branches spread
themselves low on the ground, and she was soon covered with beautiful
flowers.
When this happened the old Fakir’s grave opened, and he came back to life,
and brought the brothers and sisters with him. He told the whole story of the
six Ranees’ cruelty, and the old dhai’s wickedness to the Rajah, who
forthwith ordered them all to be killed, and lived happily ever after in his
Palace, with his seven children, and their mother, the once poor, neglected
Ranee.
 THE PRINCESS SOORTHE
Two sisters, the daughters of a Rajah, were betrothed to two Princes, the
eldest to a poor man with few followers, the youngest to a rich man with
many followers. About eight days before their marriage, the elder called the
younger and said: “Sister, we shall not be long together, let me comb your
hair for you beside the well;” but in her heart she was jealous of her sister
Soorthe, and had it in her mind to kill her, for she did not wish her to marry a
rich man.

Now in the well were some frogs, so the elder sister said: “Sister, do you see
these frogs? The name of the Rajah you are about to marry is Dhuddoo, or
Frog, and you think that he is a man, but he is, in reality, a frog.”

This so alarmed Soorthe that she wrote at once to the Rajah to say she would
not marry him, and he replied that he accepted her letter and would marry
elsewhere; but he was vexed at the letter, and took good care to come in a
grand procession which passed beneath the windows of the Princess.

She did not know it was her former lover passing by, and asked which man in
the procession was the Rajah; thus was it explained to her who he really was,
and how her elder sister had deceived her, and as she caught sight of him she
foolishly thought he had come back for her; so she let herself down with
ropes from her window: but only to fall into the hands of some thieves, who
took her away, and left her in the forest, where she was found by a Dhobie, or
washerman, who sold her to a dancing girl.

This woman taught Soorthe to dance; and, hearing that a Rajah in the vicinity
was entertaining a guest, and giving a feast and a nautch, the two set out. This
Rajah was entertaining Soorthe’s father, although she did not know of it, and
when he recognised his own daughter, who had been brought up in strict
purdah, dancing in public, like a common dancing girl, his wrath knew no
bounds.

He ordered her nose to be cut off forthwith, and had her turned out of the
kingdom. Thus do the innocent sometimes fall victims to the deceit of others,
and thus do they follow in the footsteps of evil associates.
 THE SNAKE’S BRIDE
There was once a Rajah, by name Bunsi Lall, who was charmed by a witch,
turned into a snake, and lived under ground, but he constantly wished to go
above ground and see the world.

So one day he ran away and made himself a house above ground. Now, at
this time there was a girl living in that place who had a very cruel stepmother,
and this woman made her spend the whole day picking up sticks in the forest.
It was there the snake met her, and was struck with her beauty, and one day
he said to her: “Sukkia, child of Dukhia (or the one who gives you pain), will
you marry me?” But the girl was afraid, for who would marry a snake?

She did not know that the snake was Rajah Bunsi Lall, and that he was only a
snake by day, but resumed his human form at night, so she went and told her
stepmother all about it; and her stepmother, who did not care what became of
the girl, said: “Tell him you will marry him if he fills your house with silver.”
This the girl told him, and he readily agreed.

Next day, when her stepmother opened the door, she found her house filled
with silver, and readily gave her consent to the marriage; so Sukkia became
the snake’s bride, and went to live in his house, where all was comfort and
happiness for her.

After some time her stepmother thought she would go and find out whether
the girl was still living; and when she arrived at the snake’s house, she found
that, contrary to her expectations, Sukkia was both happy and prosperous.

Now the stepmother knew the story of the enchantment of Rajah Bunsi Lall,
and also that, if he revealed his name, he would be obliged to return again to
his former home under ground; and she advised Sukkia to beg him to tell his
name, and not to rest day or night until he had done so.

[To face page 16.

THE SNAKE’S BRIDE

“Sukkia, child of Dukhia, will you marry me?”

When night came, Sukkia asked her husband to tell her his name; but he
implored her not to, as it would bring bad luck to her, yet she persisted in
asking, and would not be advised, though he turned himself into a snake and
fled before her till he reached the river-side, where he again begged her to
desist; but the foolish girl would not listen, till he called out: “My name is
Rajah Bunsi Lall;” and so saying he disappeared under the water, and she
saw him no more.

For days and days she wandered the streets and bazaars calling, “Rajah Bunsi
Lall, Rajah Bunsi Lall!” but he came not, and she was very unhappy. In the
meantime the snake had reached his own country, where arrangements were
being made to marry him to another girl; and when his servants came to draw
water from the well, they met Sukkia and told her of it.

Now Sukkia still wore the ring which Rajah Bunsi Lall had given her, and
she begged them to take it to him, which they did; and when his eyes fell
upon it he remembered Sukkia, and all she must have suffered because of
him, so he went back to the world determined to seek and find her, and then
bring her to his own country. Sukkia was delighted to meet him again. and
gladly followed him; but the snake’s mother soon discovered her, and made
up her mind to kill her without delay, so she had a room prepared full of
scorpions and snakes, and all sorts of deadly creeping things, and invited
Sukkia to sleep there.

This plot was discovered in time by Rajah Bunsi Lall; and he had the
creatures all removed and the room swept clean and whitewashed, thus
Sukkia escaped; but only for a time, for the snake’s mother told her she was
clever, indeed so clever that a test would be given her to prove her
cleverness, and if she failed to give proof of it, she would be put to death.

The snake’s mother then brought a quantity of mustard seed and strewed it on
the floor beside Sukkia, telling her to divide it into equal lots and carefully
count each seed.

The poor girl began to cry, for she felt this task to be beyond her power, and
the snake said all the trouble had been caused through asking his name, but
he knew some little birds, who came when he called them by name, and they
very soon divided the mustard seed, so once again Sukkia escaped.

The next time she went out, it was to follow very miserably in the wedding
procession of the snake; and his mother had arranged that Sukkia should have
torches to carry on her head and in her two hands, so that, when the wind
blew towards her, she would be burnt to death. All happened as arranged, but
when Sukkia cried out, “I am burning, I am burning!” Rajah Bunsi Lall heard
her and quickly ran to her rescue. Together they ran away and escaped to the
upper world, and found their former home, where they lived happily ever
after.
 THE POWER OF FATE
There was once a Rajah who had six daughters, none of whom were married,
although all were grown up.

One day he called them to him, and asked each in turn whether she was
satisfied with her lot in life and what fate had given to her. Five of the
daughters replied: “Father, our fate is in your hands: you feed and clothe us,
and all that is to be provided for our future you will provide: we are well
satisfied with our lot in life.” The youngest daughter alone kept silent, and
this vexed her father, who enquired why she made no reply.

“My fate is in no one’s hands,” she said; “and whatever is to be, will be,
whether so willed by my father or not.”
 [To face page 20.
THE POWER OF FATE

Took out the fan and began to wave it.

The Rajah was now angrier than before, and ordered that she should be
immediately put to death; but upon second thoughts he decided to send her to
a distant forest, and there leave her without food or water, so that she might
either be eaten by wild beasts at night, or else die of starvation.

So she was placed in a dooly or litter and carried away. The dooly-bearers
took her to a very dense jungle, and at length arrived at a clear space, in the
centre of which stood a huge oak tree. Here they determined to leave her, so
they tied the dooly to the boughs of the tree, where it could swing above
ground, and departed.
Now the Princess was very religious, so she spent her time in reading, and
said her prayers five times a day, believing that if it were her fate to die she
would die, but if not, some help would be sent to her.

In this way day after day passed by without any relief, and the poor Princess
was both hungry and cold, yet she continued to pray each day, until, on the
morning of the ninth day, Mahadeo (or God), who had heard her unceasing
prayers, called one of his messengers and said: “Some one on the earth is in
great pain and sorrow, and her prayers are ever knocking at my door; go thou
to seek who it is, and bring me word.”

So the messenger went forth, and found the poor Princess in her dooly on the
tree, so he quickly brought back the news to Mahadeo, who sent him back
with food and water to her relief.

After she had eaten and drunk, she washed the brass vessels in which her
food had come, and continued to pray and give thanks to God. Now each day
fresh food and water was sent to her, and for her faith and goodness,
Mahadeo determined to give her a reward.

Looking out of her dooly one day, she noticed that the earth looked wet in a
certain spot, so she dug there with her nails, and found water; not only did
she find water, but stones, which were all of solid gold and silver. “My fate
has indeed been good,” said the Princess, and she forthwith determined to
build herself a Palace on that spot, and to surround it with a beautiful garden.

Next day she heard a woodman felling trees in the forest, and called loudly to
him. The man was afraid, for it was a lonesome spot, where he had never
before heard the sound of a human voice, and he thought she must be a spirit;
but the Princess assured him that she too was human, and a King’s daughter,
who had been banished, and promised that if he would only bring her wood
to build with, and workmen to make her house, she would pay him in gold
daily.

Pleased at his luck, the woodman lost no time in calling carpenters and
masons, and before long a lovely Palace and garden were made in the once
jungly spot, and here the Princess with her servants lived a very happy life
together.

One day the King, her father, riding by that way, was greatly surprised when
he saw what a beautiful house and garden had been made in the midst of the
jungle. He sent his servants to enquire whose it was, and to bring word
quickly concerning it.

The Princess saw her father’s servants, and ordered that they should be kindly
treated, and fed on the best of food; so they returned well pleased, to tell the
King that it was his long-lost daughter, whom he had thought was dead, that
owned the Palace, and she had sent a message to ask him to come and see
her.

The Rajah was indeed surprised, and hastened to find out for himself whether
or not the news were true. When the Princess met him she reminded him of
what she had said about fate, and her belief that what was to be, would be in
spite of all efforts to prevent it, so that the Rajah also was convinced that she
was right.

After this her sisters came to visit her, and she gave them many beautiful and
costly presents. Not long afterwards the Rajah made up his mind to travel,
and asked each of his five children what they would like him to bring her on
his return. They all wanted something different, and he had almost forgotten
to ask his youngest daughter what she wanted, as she already had all that
heart could wish, but he felt ashamed to leave her out, so he asked her also.

“I have all that I need, O my father, but if, in your travels, you come to a
certain city where there is a little box for sale, bring it to me.”

The Rajah soon bought his five daughters their presents, all but the little box,
so when he arrived at the city his youngest daughter had mentioned, he began
to enquire if there was a little box for sale.

Now it was well known in that place that a certain bunniah had in his safe
keeping a magic box which contained a fan, and the soul of a king’s son. If
any one waved the fan forwards, the Prince would at once appear, but waved
backwards he would at once disappear.
When the people heard a Rajah asking for a box, they thought that it was this
magic box he meant, so they directed him to the bunniah, who said he might
have it for five hundred rupees. This seemed a large sum to pay for so small,
and, as it appeared to him, common a thing, yet, rather than return without it,
the Rajah paid the price and returned to his own country. His five daughters
were delighted with their gifts, and he sent the box to the youngest Princess.

She soon opened it, took out the fan, and began to wave it. No sooner had she
done so when a fine handsome Prince stood in her presence; but, when she
waved in the opposite direction from herself, he disappeared.

Every morning the Princess summoned the Prince with her fan, and during
the day they spent many pleasant hours together playing Pacheesee, or
Oriental Chess: in the evening she sent him away. The two were always
happy together, and never weary of each other’s presence, which, I am told,
is a sign of the truest friendship.

The five sisters soon came to show their youngest sister their presents; and
laughed when they saw a simple little box, asking what made her choose such
a plain common thing.

Upon this the foolish girl told them the whole secret of the box, and taking
out the magic fan, waved it in their presence, and the Prince arrived as before.

This made the five elder sisters very angry and jealous; and while they sat
together playing chess, they planned mischief in their hearts; so that evening
they got some glass, and pounded it into little bits, and this they spread upon
the couch on which the Prince was wont to take his midday rest. Next day,
when he came, the bits of glass hurt the poor Prince cruelly; but, being a
guest, he made no remark, and in the evening departed to his home, where,
before long, he became very ill indeed.

The King, his father, summoned all the cleverest Hakeems, or native
physicians, to his son’s bedside; but they could do nothing, and day by day
the poor Prince lay at the point of death. In vain the Princess waved her fan;
he was too ill to respond, and the five cruel sisters rejoiced to think their plan
had succeeded so well.
At last the youngest Princess could bear her suspense no longer; so, calling
her servants together, she told them she was going by herself to a distant
country on a pilgrimage, dressed like a Fakir, and none must follow her.

At first her servants would not consent, and declared they would follow
wherever she went, but after a time the Princess had her way, and set out on
her journey.

She wandered many miles that day, and at evening, weary and footsore, sat
down under a tree to rest. While she sat there an eagle and a parrot began to
talk in a neighbouring branch. “What news?” began the parrot.

“Have you not heard of the magic box, and the Princess, and how her sisters
placed broken glass on the couch of the Prince, and how even now he lies at
the point of death?”

“This is indeed sad news; and is there no remedy for his illness?”

“The remedy is simple, if they but knew it. You have only to gather the
refuse from an eagle’s nest, add water to it, and apply it to the hurt, when,
after three applications, the glass will come away, and the flesh speedily
heal.”

This conversation was eagerly listened to by the Princess; and afterwards she
carefully gathered the refuse beside the eagle’s nest, and again started with all
haste on her journey.

Arrived at the town, she began to cry in the streets, “A Hakeem, a Hakeem!”
(or doctor), and was instantly summoned to the King’s Palace; for he had
promised even to give up his kingdom to any one who would save his son. So
the Princess in this disguise hastened into the King’s presence, and there
arranged to treat the Prince, on condition that no other remedy should be tried
by others at the same time.

At the first application of her remedy small pieces of glass were seen to drop
out, at the second, still more, and, at the last, all fell out, and not one was left!
This gave the Prince such relief that he opened his eyes and regained
consciousness, but did not recognise in the new Hakeem, dressed as a Fakir,
his former friend, the Princess. At last he got well, and was able to leave his
room, so the Princess went to the Rajah, and begged permission to return to
her own country.

“Return to your country when I can give you land and riches and honour
here! Why need you do that? Ask me for anything, O wise Hakeem, even for
my throne and my kingdom, and you shall have it.”

“I desire nothing, O King,” returned the poor Hakeem, “but would crave of
you a few tokens in remembrance of your son. A handkerchief, his sword, a
ring from his finger, and his bow and arrows.”

“These gifts are too small a return for all you have done. You shall have
them, and much more, if you will.”

But the Hakeem refused, and, returning to her home with the tokens she had
asked for, once more resumed the dress of a Princess, and, taking out her fan,
began to wave it. Immediately the Prince stood in her presence, but she
feigned anger with him.

“All these many days I have waved my fan, and you have not come! Why
have you come to-day, O Prince?”

Then the Prince told her of all that had happened, of her sisters’ cruelty, of
his dangerous illness, and of the wonderful Hakeem who had saved his life,
and to whom he should ever be grateful. The Princess was glad indeed to hear
all this from his own lips, and, bringing out each gift, laid it before his
astonished eyes, while she confessed that it was she herself who had tended
him in his illness. The Prince was overcome with joy and gratitude, and asked
her to become his wife; so they were married amid great feastings and
rejoicings, and lived happily ever after. Such is the power of fate.
 THE OLD WITCH WHO LIVED IN A FOREST
There was once a Brahmin who had five daughters, and after their mother
died, he married another woman who was very unkind to them, and treated
them cruelly, and starved them. So stingy was she that, upon one occasion,
she took a grain of linseed, divided it into five pieces, and gave a piece to
each child.

“Are you satisfied, sister?” they asked one another, and each replied: “I am
satisfied,” except the youngest, who said: “I am hungry still.” Then the
eldest, who had still a morsel of the linseed in her mouth, took it and gave it
to her little sister.

Soon after their stepmother said to her husband: “These children must be sent
away, or else I will go.”

He did his best to dissuade her, but she insisted; so, taking the five girls, he
went with them to the river, where he suggested they should all cross over to
the other side. “Father, you go first, and we will follow you.”

“No, my children, you go first, and I will follow; but, if you should see this
umbrella which I carry floating upon the water, you will know that I am
drowned and cannot come.”

So the children crossed over, and waited for him; but soon, to their grief, they
saw the umbrella floating down the stream, and then they knew that their
father had been drowned.

After this they wandered about for many days, and passed through many
cities. At last they came to a house in the woods, where a woman was sitting.
She seemed very pleased to meet them, and invited them indoors; they went
in, little knowing that she was a witch, and meant evil. Next day she told
them to go and fetch wood, but kept back the eldest to sweep the house, and
to keep her company.

[To face page 32.

THE OLD WITCH WHO LIVED IN A FOREST

“O Tree, shelter me!”

In the evening when the other sisters returned, they found their eldest sister
was missing; and the witch, who did not wish them to know that she had
eaten the child, told them that she had run back to her parents. The next day
she did the same thing, and detained the second sister, and so on until only
the youngest was left.

At last the old witch told her to stay at home that day to sweep the house, and
look after it while she went out. The child swept the room, and then, out of
curiosity, opened a box which stood in the corner, and, to her horror, she saw
inside it the four heads of her sisters! They were all smiling, and she said:
“Why do you smile, O my sisters?”

“Because you will also come here to-day,” they replied. The poor child was
much alarmed, and asked what she could do to escape.

“Take all the things in this room, and tie them in a bundle, and as you run,
throw them on the road. When the old witch comes to look for you, she will
see the things, and, while she is picking them up, you will have time to
escape.” The child quickly did as the heads told her, tied the bundle, and ran
away.

There was only a broom left in the room, and when the old witch returned she
mounted upon it, and flew through the air in hot pursuit. As she went along
she found her things strewn on the road, and began picking them up one after
another. This gave the child time to run further and further away, until, at last,
she came to a peepul tree, and said: “O tree, shelter me!” and the tree opened,
and she was hidden within it, all but her little finger, which remained outside,
as the tree closed. This the old witch saw and promptly bit off: while she ate
it, she regretted more than once that such a dainty morsel had escaped, but
she knew there was no getting out the child; so she went away disappointed.

Now, soon after, a man came to cut down the tree, but the child cried from
inside: “Cut above, and cut below, but do not touch the middle, or you will
cut me in half.”

The voice so amazed the man that he went and told the Rajah about it; and
forthwith the Rajah came with all his retinue, and heard the same thing; so
they did as the voice advised, and, after carefully opening the tree, found the
child, a beautiful young girl, who sat with her hands folded within.

“Girl,” said the Rajah, “will you walk up to anybody here present to whose
caste you belong?”

The girl came out and walked up to a Brahmin: this decided the question of
her birth, and that she was fitted to become the wife of a Prince. So the Rajah
had her taken to his Palace, where they were afterwards married with great
pomp, and lived happily ever after.

Note.—It may interest my readers to know that the little native girl standing beside the peepul tree in
my sketch is still living. She came to us during one of the great Indian famines, and we almost
despaired of her life, for although seven years old at that time, she was a living skeleton, her calf
measurement being exactly three-and-a-half inches, or half of my wrist! She is now a fine healthy child,
and very devoted.—A.E.D.
 KULLOO, A FAITHFUL DOG
A certain Bunniah or merchant married a woman of his own caste, and set out
to a distant city. On the way he fell ill with a headache, so she sat by the
wayside and pressed his head. While doing so a man passed by, and asked for
a little fire to light his cheelum for a smoke, but she replied: “I cannot leave
my husband, for I am holding his head while he sleeps.”

“Put some clothes under his head, and he will sleep,” advised the stranger.
This she did, but, while giving the fire to the man, he seized her, and, placing
her upon his horse, rode away. When the Bunniah awoke, it was to find
himself all alone but for his faithful dog Kulloo.

“Master,” said Kulloo, “let us become Fakirs, and beg from door to door.” So
they set out to beg, and one day came to the house of the robber who had
stolen the Bunniah’s wife; and she, not recognising her husband or his dog,
gave them money and food. But the dog knew her, and that evening he spoke
to his master, and asked him if he too had seen his wife. The Bunniah had
not; and, guided by Kulloo, he set out to find her.

When they arrived at the robber’s house, and made themselves known, the
woman was greatly vexed, for the robber was rich, and gave her a very
comfortable home; but she pretended to be friendly and invited her husband
to dine there that night, telling him that, afterwards, when he had the chance,
he could kill the robber.

When the Bunniah had gone, she and the robber arranged a trap for him. It
was a hole in the floor, very large and deep, with spikes fixed in the sides of
it, so that anybody who fell in might die. Over the hole they set a large brass
thalee or plate, so that, while the Bunniah leaned heavily upon it to eat his
food, both it and he would fall into the hole.

All happened as they anticipated; and when the poor Bunniah found himself
in a deep hole, full of spikes, he thought his last hour had come. But faithful
Kulloo came to his rescue, and, taking out the spikes with his teeth, soon set
his master free.

The Bunniah then lost no time in seeking the robber, and found him lying fast
asleep; so he killed him, and cut off his head, then, taking his wife with him,
left the place.

Kulloo followed closely, and licked up each drop of blood which fell from
the robber’s head, lest it might leave a trace of the deed, and get his master
into trouble. He was a wise dog, and knew the woman was wicked, so she
hated him, and made up her mind that she would neither eat nor drink until he
was dead.

The Bunniah enquired why she would not touch any food, and she told him
she would only do so if he killed Kulloo. This the man refused to do; but,
after a while, he consented. Poor Kulloo, when he knew his last hour had
come, besought his master to bury him carefully, and to see that his head,
which the Bunniah meant to cut off, was buried with him, for a time was yet
to come when he would again save his master’s life.

After Kulloo was dead and buried the wicked woman was happy, and ate and
drank as before; but, after a few days, she went and gave notice at the Court
that the Bunniah was a cruel robber, who had killed her husband, and stolen
her away. The police seized him, and he was taken up for murder; but, just as
the Judge was about to pronounce the sentence of death upon him, he
remembered faithful Kulloo; and at the same moment the dog appeared!

All were surprised when he stood before the Judge, and asked leave to speak.
He then told the whole story of the robber and the wicked woman; and thus,
for a second time, saved his master’s life, but, having said his say, poor
Kulloo disappeared and was never seen again.
 THE STORY OF GHOSE
There was once a Ranee who had no children, so she made a great pet of a
young squirrel, and fed it day after day. One day it entered her head to
deceive the Rajah, so she told him that, before the end of the year, an heir
would be born in the Palace.

On the appointed day she sent her own nurse (whom she had bribed) to tell
the Rajah that the child was born, and was a daughter. The old Brahmin of
the Palace hastened to see the young Princess, who was, in reality, no child,
but the tame squirrel; so the Ranee persuaded him to go and tell the Rajah
that he was now the father of a most lovely daughter: but the stars pointed out
that he must not look on her face for twelve years, for, if she looked at him,
he would die, and, if he looked at her, she would die. The poor Rajah had no
choice but to agree, and thus the Ranee kept up her deception for twelve
years, and hid her pet squirrel from everybody.

At last, when the twelve years were over, she said one day to her husband:
“Do not look upon your daughter’s face till she is married, lest evil come
upon her, but go you and make arrangements to marry her to a Prince of good
family.”

So they sent the old Brahmin to seek for a husband for her; and he went from
place to place, until he came to a city where there was a Rajah who had seven
sons, all of whom were married but the youngest, whose name was
Shahzadah; so the Brahmin chose him, and all was prepared for the marriage.

There was a great feast held, and great rejoicings daily took place in the
Palace. When at last the dooly or litter came, for the bride to be carried to her
home, the Ranee hid the squirrel inside it, and nobody guessed that there was,
in reality, no bride.

On reaching his home the young bridegroom had the dooly placed at the door
of his zenana, according to Oriental custom, so that none might see his bride
enter; and great indeed was his surprise, when he looked inside, to find
nobody there but a squirrel.

For very shame he held his peace, and told nobody of it, but gave orders in
the Palace that he and his wife would live apart by themselves; and she would
be in such strict purdah, that even the women of the household would not be
allowed to visit her. This gave great offence to everybody; but they put it
down to his jealousy, owing to his wife’s great beauty, and obeyed.

At last his other brother’s wife rebelled, and said: “I refuse to do all the
household work; your wife must also take her share in it.”

Shahzadah was now very sad, for he felt the time had come for his secret to
be discovered, and he would become the laughing-stock of the whole Palace.

The squirrel, who was a great favourite of his, noticed his sadness, and asked
him the cause of it. “Why are you sad, O Prince?”

“I am sad because they say you must do some of the household work; and
how are you to do it, being only a squirrel?”

“What is it they want me to do?”

“To leepo or plaster the floor.”

“Well, tell them to do their own portion of the work, and leave me to do mine
at my leisure.”

This was done, and at night the squirrel went and dipped her tail into the
limewash and plaster, and soon had the room better done than the other
Ranees.
In the morning all the household were surprised to see the clever way in
which Shahzadah’s wife had done her work, and they said: “No wonder you
hide your wife, when she is so clever.”

The next day the task was to grind some corn, and again Shahzadah’s heart
was heavy, for how could a squirrel turn a heavy stone handmill, and grind
corn? But the squirrel said as before: “Tell them to do their work, and to
leave mine alone. I will do it when I have finished my bath.”

When night came, she went into the room, and with her sharp little teeth,
kutter, kutter, kutter, soon reduced the corn to powder.

Shahzadah was very pleased with her, and so were they all, and nothing more
was said until the next day, when the allotted task was to make a native dish
called goolgoolahs. This is done by mixing goor, or molasses, with flour and
water, and frying it in ghee, or oil, like fritters.

The poor little squirrel was indeed at her wits’ end how to perform the task,
for how could so small an animal make so difficult a dish? She tried, and she
tried, but failed each time in her attempts, until it was nearly morning.

Just then the God Mahadeo and his wife Parbatti were taking a walk in the
dawning light of day. Parbatti saw the poor little squirrel’s efforts, and said to
Mahadeo: “I will not rest content till you turn that small creature into a
human being, so that she can perform her task.”

At first Mahadeo refused, but, after a time, he took out a knife, and, making a
cut in his finger, took the blood from it, and sprinkled it upon the squirrel,
who forthwith turned into a most beautiful Princess.

Just then, as she sat finishing her task, other members of the Royal Family
awoke, and came in; they were greatly amazed at her beauty, and led her by
the hand to their own apartments.

Meantime, Shahzadah, her husband, was stricken with grief, thinking his
poor little squirrel had been burnt to death. He sought her everywhere, and
when he could not find her, began to cry: “O my Ghose, my Ghose, where
are you?”

The women standing there scolded him for this, and said: “Why do you call
your beautiful wife a young squirrel? She is not dead, but has at last been
found by us, and is with the other Princesses in the Palace.”

But Shahzadah, who knew nothing of what had happened, only wept the
more, for he thought they were making fun of him, so he went to his own
room, where he flung himself on his couch, and continued to weep. At last he
looked up and saw, standing beside him, a beautiful girl, who said: “Do not
weep, O Prince, for I am your squirrel.” Then she told him all that had
happened.

This was indeed good news, and it was not long before the grateful Princess
wrote to her foster-mother, who had been so good and kind to her when she
was only a helpless little creature, and invited her and her father the Rajah to
come on a visit. This was the first time the Rajah had seen or kissed his
daughter, and he was indeed pleased to find she was so beautiful. So there
were great rejoicings in the Palace, and they all lived happily ever after.
 THE VIZIER’S SON AND THE RAJAH’S SON
The Vizier’s and the Rajah’s son were great friends, and always together.
This made the Rajah very jealous, and he called an old woman whom he
knew, and asked her to separate the two.

This was a difficult task, as they were such fast friends, but the old woman
was anxious to gain a reward, and said she would do it; so she called the
Vizier’s son, and when he asked her what she required, remained silent. Then
she called the Rajah’s son, and did the same.

After she had gone, the two questioned each other as to what she had said,
and neither would believe the other when he declared she had said nothing at
all; so they began to suspect one another of deceit, and quarrelled.

Thus the old woman sowed dissension in their hearts, and after a time,
instead of being friends, they became bitter enemies. The Rajah’s son said he
insisted on knowing what the old woman had said to the Vizier’s son, and if
he would not tell it, he must be put to death at the hands of a sweeper, or, in
India, low-caste man.

The sweeper was just about to do this cruel deed, when the Goddess Parbatti
saw him, and implored of Mahadeo, her husband, to intercede; so he sent a
large stag to the jungle, and it stood near at hand.

When the sweeper saw it, he killed it instead with the bow and arrows, and,
taking out its eyes, carried them to the Rajah, and said they were the eyes of
the Vizier’s son.

Thus the Prince was appeased, and again ate, drank, and was merry, until one
day, walking in the garden, he saw an earthen vessel, and in it a lock of hair
and a small lamp. This, he felt sure, had some significance, so he longed to
ask the Vizier’s son, who was clever, and would have told him all about it;
but he remembered that the Vizier’s son was taken away and killed, and he
himself had seen his eyes brought back in proof of the deed.

Nevertheless he wept day and night, and would not be comforted, so the
Rajah, his father, in great distress, sent for the sweeper who had been told to
kill the Vizier’s son, and implored him to declare the truth concerning his
end. Then the man confessed everything, and went and searched for the lad,
and brought him back. The two boys became fast friends as before, and the
Rajah’s son enquired the meaning of the lock of woman’s hair and lamp.

“It means,” said the Vizier’s son, “the name of a beautiful Princess called
‘Princess of the Lamp,’ and she lives in a distant country.”

So they set out to seek her, and soon found the Palace in which she lived, and
outside a girl making a wreath of flowers for the Princess. The Rajah’s son
begged the girl to let him make the hal or wreath, and, in making it, he placed
a letter inside.

The Princess was very angry when she found the letter, and made the girl tell
her the truth; but she would not receive the Prince after what he had done, so
he had to return to his own country: thus was he punished for his cruelty to
the Vizier’s son.
 THE RAJAH’S SON AND THE VIZIER’S SON
For a second time the friendship of the Rajah’s son and the Vizier’s son
caused great jealousy, so a mischief-maker was called, and he promised he
would do all in his power to part them. Then he ordered a dooly and followed
them into the forest. At the first opportunity he called to the eldest, who was
the Vizier’s son, and pretended to whisper in his ear.

The Rajah’s son at once enquired what the man had said, and would not
believe that it was nothing at all, so once again in great anger he ordered his
friend to be killed.

But the Vizier’s son was very clever, and soon persuaded the executioner to
spare his life, for he told him the Rajah’s son would very soon weary of being
alone, and would ask for him back; and if the executioner could not bring
him, he would most probably suffer death himself; thus he escaped, and went
and hid himself.

In the meantime the Rajah’s son chanced to walk by the riverside, where he
saw a very beautiful woman sitting beside her husband. He admired the
woman very much, and communicated his feelings in looks, though he dared
not do so in words.

The woman replied by first spreading a little green plaster on the ground, on
which she placed a brass vessel, or lota, and over that another or smaller lota,
on the top of which was a looking-glass, with ashes spread upon it.

The Rajah’s son looked carefully at what she had done, but could not
interpret its meaning, so he bitterly regretted the death of his friend, who was
noted for his cleverness, and went at once to the executioner to enquire about
him.

The executioner owned that he had not killed the boy, and went and called
him. Then the friends went together to discover what the woman meant, nor
was the Vizier’s son long in finding the meaning.

The green plaster meant, “In a green spot lives Lota (the name of her
husband), and Gudba (or smaller vessel) is the name of the city where we
live; the looking-glass means in a house which has many glasses in it; and the
ashes mean, ‘May these ashes be on your head if you fail to discover my
meaning.’ ”

After this clue, it did not take the Vizier’s son long to find out where the
woman lived, and he put pegs into the wall, one above the other, for his
friend to climb up to her window.

But before the Rajah’s son could reach the top, a Kotwal, or policeman, saw
him, and took him away to the lock-up. This was an unexpected turn of
affairs, so the Vizier’s son quickly dressed himself as a beautiful woman, and
asked to see his friend in the prison. He bribed the jailer to let him in, and,
once there, made his friend put on his clothes and escape, while he remained
prisoner in his stead.

Next day the news went abroad that the Kotwal had locked up both the
Rajah’s son and the Vizier’s son in the prison, and the Rajah was very angry
about it, and sent at once to find out the reason.

They determined to put the matter as to who was innocent and who was
guilty to a test; so the Kotwal had a pan of boiling oil prepared, and said who
ever plunged his hand into it, who was innocent of crime, would not be burnt.

Each dipped his hand in turn, the Rajah’s son, the Vizier’s son, the woman,
and the Kotwal himself, but only the Kotwal had his hand badly burnt, so this
ended the whole affair. The Rajah’s son meantime had dressed himself as a
woman, and taken service in the house of the beautiful woman who was the
wife of a Sowcar.
Nobody guessed who he was, until one day the Sowcar himself admired him,
and tried to be friends with him, thinking he was only a pretty servant-girl;
then the Sowcar’s wife gave her pretended servant-girl a razor, and said to
keep it carefully till the next time the Sowcar came to see her, and then to cut
off his nose.

The Rajah’s son, who was tired of acting the part of a servant-girl, was only
too glad to do this; and the Sowcar, rather than let anybody know of his
disgrace in having lost his nose, left the country, and thus his wife gained her
ends.
 BEY HUSLO
Bey Huslo was a very extravagant woman, who was always being found fault
with by her husband, who held up as her examples other women who were
thrifty in their habits, and who saved money, and helped to make and build
up their husbands’ homes.

On hearing this Bey Huslo took a pick-axe, and began digging here and there
like a mason. Her husband asked what she was doing, and she replied:
“Trying to build you a house.”

He tried to explain that that was not literally meant, and explained again the
duties of a wife. “When a good wife falls short of supplies, she borrows two
cuttorah’s full (or small earthen vessels full) of flour from her neighbour, and
thus saves herself the expense of buying any large quantity.”

That night Bey Huslo, who had taken this saying literally, borrowed two
small earthen vessels, and, breaking them into small pieces, put them on the
fire to cook!

Her husband heard the sound as they grated against the cooking-pot, and
asked what she was cooking that made such a noise; but he was very angry
indeed when she told him, and scolded her roundly.

He told her she was perfectly useless, and that, while he had to go about
without clothes, other women were able to spin and weave. She replied that if
he would only give her some wool, she could do the same.

The man was delighted, and gave her some wool; so she took it to the pond,
and told the frogs and toads to weave it into cloth for her.
After some days her husband asked her if the cloth was ready, and she said:
“I gave it to the frogs and toads to weave for me, and find they have not done
so.”

Then her husband was very angry indeed, and said: “Senseless one, have you
ever heard of frogs and toads spinning cloth? Go out of my house this
moment!” And, with that, he turned her out, and she went and climbed up
into a peepul tree.

Soon after some camels came that way, and, as they stretched out their necks
and ate the branches, Bey Huslo called out: “Go away, I will not go with you;
I will only go when my husband comes to fetch me.”

But as the camels had only come to eat, and not to fetch her, they made no
reply, and went away.

After this a dog began to bark at her, but she said again: “Go away, I will not
go with you; I will only go with my husband.”

When night fell some thieves sat sharing their spoils under the tree, and Bey
Huslo felt so frightened that she fell off, and dropped in their midst.

The thieves did not know what to make of it, and ran away, leaving their
stolen property behind. Bey Huslo soon gathered it up and returned to her
husband. “Here,” she said, “is more than enough for you and for me. We will
now live at our ease, and I will have no housekeeping to do, so that you can
no longer call me a worthless wife.”
 THE STORY OF PANCH MAR KHAN
There was once a weaver who had the habit of slapping his face to kill any
flies that settled upon it; and it was rumoured that he killed five at every
blow, so he got the name of Panch Mar Khan, which means “a killer of five.”

People did not know that this name applied to flies, but thought the weaver a
brave, strong man, able to kill five of his enemies at a blow, so that he gained
a reputation for bravery.

One day the Rajah of that place heard some enemies were coming in force to
attack his capital. All the fighting men were required to go out and meet them
on the morrow; so Panch Mar Khan received notice to be in readiness also.

Now he had never touched a weapon in his life, and was horribly frightened
at the very idea, so he made up his mind to run away during the night.

He saddled his donkey, and, taking two large millstones, set out on his
journey; but, as he was passing the enemy’s camp, and arrived at a hill just a
little above it, the donkey began to kick and to bray, and the two stones rolled
down the hill into the enemy’s camp with a great noise.

They thought an army was after them, and became terror-stricken, so that in
the darkness and panic which ensued, many of them were killed.

Panch Mar Khan was greatly delighted at his good luck, and, instead of
running away, returned to his own home.

Next morning, when the soldiers came to call him out to fight the enemy, he
very proudly asked: “What enemy? Did I not go out at night, and kill
hundreds of our enemies and drive the rest away?”

True enough, there was now no camp to be seen, and several dead men were
found on the spot; so Panch Mar Khan’s reputation as a brave man spread far
and wide, and he was handsomely rewarded by the Rajah.

Some days after news came that a tiger was prowling about; and a brave man
was required to go out that night and kill it. Who was so brave as Panch Mar
Khan! So he was deputed to go, but when he heard this he nearly died of
fright, and made up his mind that he would run away.

So when darkness fell he crept out and caught his donkey by the ear, and led
it to its stable, and there tied it to a post, to wait till he was ready to get on its
back; but when he returned with a light, what was his surprise to find it was
not his donkey, but the tiger that he had led by the ear and tied to a post.

Such brave conduct from a mortal to a wild beast had so amazed the tiger,
that it was too frightened to resist, so there it remained till morning, and
Panch Mar Khan was thought to be the bravest man alive!

Next morning he got up early, and went out into the field near his house, and
there he suddenly came face to face with the fierce eyes and grinning teeth of
a jackal. His other bravery was by mistake, but this was a reality, and so
frightened was he, that he fell down and died on the spot.
 THE RABBIT AND THE BARBER
There was a rabbit who asked a barber to shave him; in doing so the barber
cut off his ear. “Take my ear,” said the rabbit, “and I will take your razors.”

A little further on he saw an old woman pulling grass with her hands. “Take
this,” he said, giving her the razor, “and cut grass with it, and I will take your
cloth.”

When she asked him why, he replied: “You have my razor and I have your
chudder.”

Then he went a little further and saw a ghee seller. “Take my chudder and
give me your ghee,” said the rabbit. So saying, he left the chudder and
walked off with the ghee.

Not long after he met a woman, and told her to make him some goolgoolahs,
or sweets, with the ghee. As soon as they were ready he picked them up and
ran away.

A little further on was a man with a plough, a horse, and a bullock. “Take
these sweets,” said the rabbit, “and I will yoke your plough for you.”

But, instead of doing this, he ran away with the horse, and soon after met a
marriage procession, in which the bridegroom was walking beside the bride’s
litter or dooly. “Get on my horse: why do you walk?” said the rabbit gaily.

So the man got on, and the rabbit ran off with the bride; but her husband ran
after, and advised his wife to kill the rabbit.
When they got to a quiet place, and rested under a tree, she asked the rabbit
to let her comb his hair; but as soon as he put his head down, she gave him a
severe knock on it, which stunned him, and then ran back to her husband.
Thus ended the adventures of the rabbit.
 RUPA AND BISUNTHA
There was once a woman who had no little children of her own; every day
she used to watch the sparrows building their nests, and bringing up their
young, and it so happened that one day a mother bird died, leaving several
young ones. After a time a new mother bird was brought, and she was not at
all good to the young fledglings.

The woman felt hurt for them, and said to her husband: “If I had children of
my own, and after a time I died, would you do as the birds have done, and let
my children be unkindly treated?”

But the man replied: “These are birds, and I am a man.”

After some years the woman had two sons, and when they had grown to be
big boys, she died. Her husband had forgotten her conversation about the
birds, and he married another wife.

One day the eldest boy was playing with a ball, when it fell into his
stepmother’s room. He asked if he might fetch it; but when he went inside,
she made it an occasion for all sorts of complaints against him to his father,
so his father turned him out of the house, and he went away with his little
brother.

As they rested that night in the forest, the younger brother lay awake and
overheard a conversation between two Night Jars. They talked on many
subjects. At length one of the birds remarked: “How little do people guess
that he who eats me will become a Rajah, and he who eats you will become a
Prime Minister.”
On hearing this the youngest brother crept out of bed, and taking his gun,
shot both birds and cooked them. He ate the female himself, and kept the
male for his brother. But while he slept, a venomous snake, which lived in the
tree, came down and bit him, so that he died as he slept.

In the morning his elder brother awoke, and found a meal prepared for him,
so he ate the bird, and then tried to wake his companion, but soon discovered
that the boy was dead. This grieved him very much, and he wept bitterly, and
determined to wait till he could return and burn his brother in a way befitting
to a good caste Hindu, so he placed him in the branches of the tree and went
his way.

The same day Mahadeo and Parbatti were passing that way, and Parbatti,
who is ever described as a wilful Goddess, always wanting her own way,
asked Mahadeo to see what was in the tree. They soon found the dead boy;
and Parbatti insisted that he should be made alive again, so Mahadeo
sprinkled a few drops of blood upon him, and he sat up alive and well.

Close to this place a Rajah had just died, and his people placed his crown in
the trunk of an elephant, leaving it to him to place it upon the head of any
man there; and that man would be their future King. The elephant looked
upon them all, and then, walking up to Rupa, placed the crown upon his head.

At first the people objected, because he was a stranger, and did not belong to
their town, but after a while they accepted him as their King, and thus the
words of the bird were fulfilled.

In the meantime, Bisuntha came to the same city, and begged a night’s
shelter. The people were fully aware that night after night a fierce man-eating
tiger came to that town, and demanded a man to eat. They did not wish to
give one of the men belonging to the town, so Bisuntha, being a stranger, was
selected for the tiger, and told to go and sleep in the place where it was likely
to come.

At night he lay awake thinking, and the tiger came; but Bisuntha had his
sword beside him, so he promptly killed the tiger, and placed its ears and
whiskers in his pocket.
In the morning a sweeper came, thinking to find the stranger dead and his
bones scattered about, but, instead, he found the tiger dead, and the stranger
lying fast asleep; so he resolved to take all the honour of killing the tiger to
himself, and went back to the city with the news that he had killed the tiger
single-handed, and saved the man. This story was believed, and the sweeper
richly rewarded, but Bisuntha heard nothing.

Now there lived in that city a merchant who owned a ship and went to distant
cities to trade, but sometimes the ship stuck in the sandbanks, and could not
be moved. At such times it was necessary to kill a man, and then the sand
was pleased at the sacrifice and let the ship go. It was always difficult to find
a man for the purpose, and the Rajah was often asked to select one.

Bisuntha, at this time, had taken up service in the house of an oil merchant,
and being a stranger, he was selected for a second time, and sent by the Rajah
to accompany the merchant, at the risk of his life.

At the first sandbank, when the ship was in difficulties and could not be
moved, the merchant told Bisuntha he must prepare to die; but Bisuntha said:
“You desire your ship to move, whether I die or whether I do not. If I can
make it move on for you, will you spare my life?”

To this the merchant agreed; and Bisuntha cut his finger, and dropped a few
drops of blood into the sea. As soon as he did this the ship moved on, and so
the merchant would not part with him, or kill him, but kept him during the
whole voyage, and brought him back to the town.

Rupa had half forgotten his brother all this while, but one day he was stricken
with remorse, and determined to find out what had happened after he had left
the forest, with the intention of burning the remains of Bisuntha.

In order to get news of him, he sent out a notice that he would pay any one
who would come daily and talk with him, for he hoped in the course of
conversation that some one would mention the circumstance of the boy who
was found dead in a tree in the forest.
At length Bisuntha himself came to hear what the Rajah his brother was
doing, so he disguised himself as a girl, and went to the Palace.

When the Rajah saw him he said: “What have you to say, O my daughter?”
and Bisuntha said: “Do you wish me to talk on general subjects or only of
myself?”

“Of yourself,” said Rupa.

So the lad began. “There were once two brothers, whose names were Rupa
and Bisuntha, and they had a stepmother.”

Rupa’s interest was now breathless, but after telling a small part of the story
Bisuntha said he was tired, and would tell the rest next day.

The next day he continued, and told how a snake had bitten Bisuntha, and
how he had died in the forest, and had been raised to life by Mahadeo and
Parbatti. Rupa was now full of anxiety to know the rest, but Bisuntha said he
had forgotten it, so nothing could be done.

When he came again, he said he remembered that Bisuntha came to a certain

town, where the Rajah ordered him to be given to a tiger; how he had escaped
the tiger and all other dangers, and had in his pocket the proof. Thus saying
he took out the tiger’s ears and whiskers, and, as his eyes met his brother’s,
they recognised each other, and fell upon each other’s necks.
 SHEIK CHILLI
The hero of this story was one day walking along with a vessel of oil upon
his head. As he walked he kept thinking of the future.

“I will sell the oil, and with the money I shall buy a goat, and then I shall sell
the kids, and then I shall buy a cow, and sell the milk, till I get a large sum of
money; then I shall buy a pair of buffaloes, and a field, and plough the field,
and gain more money, and build myself a house, and marry a wife, and have
many sons and daughters. And when my wife comes to call me to dinner, I’ll
say: ‘Dhur, away! I’ll come when 1 think fit!’ ” and with that he held up his
head suddenly, and away fell the chattie with the oil, and it was all spilt.

This upset Sheik Chilli so much that he began to yell: “I have lost my goats, I
have lost my cows, I have lost my buffaloes, and my house, and my wife and
children.”
 [To face page 68.
SHEIK CHILLI

“I’ve lost my goats, I’ve lost my cows!”

That such dire calamity should befall a man caused great pity, so the
bystanders took Sheik Chilli to the Rajah, who asked him how it had all
happened.

When he heard the story he laughed, and said: “This boy has a good heart, let
him be given a reward to compensate him for the loss of his oil.”
 SHEIK CHILLI
Sheik Chilli was going to be married, so his mother said: “My son, whatever
your wife gives you to eat be content with your nemak panee (literally salt
and water, but a native always speaks of his food as his “nemak panee”), and
do not grumble, but eat uncomplaining.”

So when he was married, and his wife placed his food before him, he
remembered his mother’s warning, and kept repeating, “Nemak panee,
nemak panee,” till his wife was disgusted, and taking him at his word gave
him salt and water to drink.

During the night he felt very hungry, and asked her to give him some food,
but she said: “I am not going to get up and cook food for you at this hour of
the night, but if you will go into a certain room, you will find some honey in
a jar on the shelf, eat a little of that.”

Sheik Chilli, in trying to reach the jar of honey, upset it, and it came pouring
down upon him, while he kept calling out, “Stop, stop, I’ve had enough,” till
at last, surfeited with honey and smeared with it from head to foot, he
returned to his wife, and told her what had happened. She advised him to go
into the next room, where he would find some wool, and clean himself with
it.

He tried to do this, but the wool stuck fast to the honey, and covered his body
and his hands, so that he looked more like a sheep than a man, and his wife
told him that he had better go and sleep with the sheep until morning, when
she would prepare some warm water for him to have a wash.
That night some thieves came to steal the sheep, and in the darkness they felt
each one to see which was fattest. Sheik Chilli was fast asleep, and they
thought he was a very fine sheep; so they put him into a bag and ran away,
taking him with them. When he awoke he kept calling out: “Let me go, let me
go.” This frightened the robbers, who had never heard a sheep call out before,
and so they put down the bag and out dropped Sheik Chilli.

The robbers asked him who he was, and said: “You must come with us now,
for we are just going to rob the house of a very rich Bunniah; while we gather
the spoils, you keep watch that he does not wake.”

Sheik Chilli waited patiently till he thought the robbers were ready to run
away; and then he dropped some hot rice, that was in the cooking pot on the
fire, upon the hand of the Bunniah’s wife. She awoke with a scream, and the
robbers ran away. Then Sheik Chilli explained how he had saved the Bunniah
from great loss, and was allowed to go free without any more questions being
asked.

When he got outside he saw a camel laden with all sorts of treasure. The
camel-driver had turned aside for a minute or so, and Sheik Chilli could not
see him, so he lead off the camel, made over its pack to his mother, and let it
walk away empty.

Next day there was a great fuss made, and the town-crier went round to say
that a camel had strayed, and certain valuable goods were lost.

Sheik Chilli’s mother heard this, and knowing how simple her son was, she
feared he would tell every one where the things were, so she resolved to
divert his mind, and that night cooked some goolgoolahs, a very favourite
native dish, like fritters, and flung them into the garden; then she woke her
son and told him it was “raining goolgoolahs from the sky!”

The foolish fellow ran out and called to everybody: “It is raining
goolgoolahs! it is raining goolgoolahs!” Everybody thought him a fool, and
said: “It is that mad Sheik Chilli; who is going to listen to him?”

Next day Sheik Chilli heard the town-crier calling out about the camel, so he
promptly said: “My mother has the things; I myself brought the camel to
her.”

Then they all crowded to his mother’s door, and she asked: “On what day did
you bring the camel, my son?”

“The day it rained goolgoolahs, mother.”

So the people walked away disgusted, and said: “What fool’s talk is this?
Who ever heard of its raining goolgoolahs? The one statement is as false as
the other.”

After this his mother advised him to return to his wife, who must wonder
what had become of him. “And mind,” she said, “whatever your wife may
say, you must agree, and say ‘Acchābat’ ”—or “Quite right,” as we English
would say “Good!” or “Very good news!”

So he returned to his wife, and the first piece of news she gave him was that
her mother had been put into prison, to which he replied, “Acchābat,” or
“Very good.” On this his wife was exceedingly vexed, and turned him out of
the house.

He returned to his mother, who asked him what had happened. She said:
“You are indeed a foolish boy, you should have said, ‘Ah ha! Ah ha! this is
indeed sad news.’ I hope you will remember next time what I have told you.”

So Sheik Chilli went back to his wife, who greeted him with the news that his
mother-in-law had been released.

“Ah ha!” said Sheik Chilli, “this is indeed sad news.”

The mother-in-law, who overheard him, said: “I have had enough of you:
take your wife, and go and live in your own mother’s house.” So she turned
him out.
THE MONKEY, THE TIGER, AND THE PRINCESS
Once upon a time there was a King who had seven sons, and he made up his
mind that he would not let them marry unless they married seven sisters, so
he sent his Brahmin to seek a Rajah who had seven daughters, and to bring
him word. After a time the Brahmin succeeded, and found a Rajah who had
seven daughters; so arrangements were speedily made for their marriage.

When the time came for the seven Princes to go and fetch their brides, the
youngest said to his father: “If we all go, who is to look after the house, and
all your property? Let me remain behind, and when my brothers return with
their wives, they can bring my bride also.”

His father thought this a very wise suggestion, so they set out, leaving the
youngest brother at home.

After the wedding festivities were over, the seven brides were carried along
in doolies, with the six Princes for an escort, and they halted for the night
near a tank or pond in the forest, but did not know that the place was full of
tigers. At night the tigers formed a ring round the camp, and said they would
eat every one in it unless one of the Princesses was given up to them.

None of the six Princes would give up his wife. At last they decided to leave
the seventh Princess to the tigers.

When the procession arrived at the Rajah’s Palace, the youngest Prince
wondered why only six doolies had come, and asked what had become of his
bride; but nobody would give him an answer.

At last an old man told him what had happened, and the young Prince, who
was very angry and disappointed with his brothers, at once set out to seek his
bride.

On the way he met a rat and a jackal, and they said: “May we go with you?”
The Prince consented, and the three set out together, and walked or rode till
evening, when they were overcome with fatigue and sat down to rest.

The Prince fell asleep, but the jackal said to the rat: “I am very hungry, what
shall we do for food? Do you eat the Prince’s clothes, and I will eat his
horse.”

No sooner did they agree than they carried out their plan. The rat ate all the
clothes worn by the Prince, and the jackal ate his horse, so that when he
awoke it was to find himself alone in the forest, without either horse or
clothes.

Just then a monkey came down from the tree, and asked him what was the
matter.

“I have told my troubles to two animals before, and do not wish to be

betrayed by a third,” said the Prince; to which the monkey replied: “A rat is a
rat, and a jackal is a jackal, but I am a monkey; come with me and I will help
you out of your troubles.”

Then they went to the Bazaar, where the monkey gave his friend the Prince
some money, and told him to buy himself clothes. When he had bought the
clothes, he gave him some more money and said to buy himself a sword and
ornaments, and lastly to buy himself a horse, and the monkey advised that it
should be a thin horse, fleet of limb.

Then the two mounted the horse and rode into the forest, where they soon
found the Princess sitting tied up in a den, with an old blind tiger in charge of
her. The blind tiger held two strings; one was attached to the girl, and the
other to a large tiger who had gone out with the rest of the tigers, but who, at
the slightest pull of the string, was ready to return to give any assistance
required of him.
The monkey whispered to the girl to try and free herself, and meantime, he
began to sweep the room, and busy himself, so that the old blind tiger might
think the girl was busy at her household work.

After a time the girl managed to get away, and she fled with the Prince, until
the monkey thought they were at a safe distance; then he turned round and
dealt several blows to the old blind tiger, who, in her turn, pulled the string. A
great big tiger at once came to her assistance, and asked what had happened,
but he was enraged to find that the girl had gone, and beat the old tiger
soundly, before setting off in hot pursuit.

On the way he saw a man, who was in reality the monkey in disguise, sitting
beside a funeral pyre.

“What is this for?” asked the tiger.

“A certain tiger,” said the monkey, “has killed his mother to-day, and this is
to burn her upon.”

The tiger felt remorse, for he had not meant to kill the old tiger, so he rushed
back to the den, and this gave the fugitives time to escape yet further; but
when the tiger found his mother alive and well, he was so angry that he
dragged her out of the den by her feet and threw her on the ground.

Then he ran back to where the monkey was sitting and found him still busy
with the funeral pyre, for he said that an old woman had been dragged out by
her feet that day, and she was even now being carried to be burnt.

The tiger was filled with remorse at what he had done, and for a second time
ran back to the den. By this time both the Prince and the Princess had escaped
in safety, and the monkey joined them.

They were always good to him, but he pined for the woods and the forests;
yet, whenever he asked to be allowed to return, they would not allow it. So
one day he determined to make the Princess so angry that she would herself
turn him out. He awaited his opportunity, and broke all the thread as she was
spinning. The Princess threw something heavy at his head, and he feigned to
fall down dead.

Great were the lamentations over the faithful monkey, and he was carried in
solemn ceremony to be burnt, just as though he were a Rajah’s son; but the
moment they laid him upon the fire, up he jumped, and ran off.

The Princess scolded him for causing her such sorrow, but he explained that
since there was no other way of getting back into the forest and regaining his
liberty, he had thought this the best way. Then they all came home, and let
the monkey sport in the forest as before.
 THE JACKAL AND THE GUANA
A jackal once made itself a throne of bones near the river-side, and levied toll
on all the animals that came there to drink water, making each say in turn
these words:

“Golden is your throne,

Silver is its plaster,
In your ears are golden earrings,
And you sit like a Rajah.”

This praise pleased the jackal, and he was puffed up with his own
importance.

One day a guana, or iguana, a very large lizard, called by the natives “Go,”
came to the river, but when the jackal asked it to repeat the words, it said:
“Let me drink first, for I am dying of thirst;” so he let it drink, and when it
had finished, it said:

“Bones are your throne,

With cow dung are they plastered,
In your ears are shoes,
And you sit like a jackal.”

This made the jackal wild with anger, so he ran after the Go to kill it, and
caught its tail in his teeth, just as the Go was getting into a hole. “Hoo hoo,”
said the jackal.

“Don’t say Hoo, say Ha,” called the Go; so the jackal said “Ha!” and in order
to say it, had to open his mouth, so the Go escaped!
 THE STORY OF THE BLACK COW
There was a certain Brahmin whose wife died leaving him one little son. For
some time the two lived happily together, but at last the Brahmin married for
a second time, and the woman, who had a daughter of her own, was very
unkind to her little stepson.

Each day the two children went out together to attend to the cattle, and at
night they returned home to eat their food. But the cakes made by the
Brahmin’s wife for her stepson were of ashes, with just a little flour mixed in
to give them the appearance of food, that the Brahmin might not notice; and
the child ate in silence, for he was afraid to complain, yet, when he was alone
in the forest he wept from hunger, and a black cow, one of the herd, saw this,
and asked him what was the matter.

The boy told her everything, and presently she beat her hoofs upon the
ground. As she did so, sweets of all kinds appeared, which the child ate
greedily, and shared with his little sister, warning her the while not to
mention at home what the black cow had done, lest the stepmother should be
angry.

The stepmother meanwhile wondered to see how well the boy looked, and
she resolved to keep watch, for she suspected that he drank the milk while
tending her cows; so she told her little daughter to keep a good look-out on
all his doings, and to let her know. At last the girl confessed that they ate
sweets every day, and the black cow provided the feast.

That day when the Brahmin came home his wife begged him to sell the black
cow, and said she would neither sleep nor eat until this was done.
The poor boy was sad indeed when he heard this, and went at once to his
favourite, where, throwing himself on the black cow’s neck, he wept bitterly.

“Do not weep, my child, but get up on my back, and I will carry you to a
place of safety where we can still be together.”

So they escaped to a forest, and there lived in peace and security for many
days.

Now, in the forest was a hole, which led to the home of the Great Snake,
which, together with a bull, holds up the universe. Into this hole the black
cow poured five seers of milk daily to feed the snake. This pleased the snake
so much that he said one day: “I must go up into the world and see for myself
the creature who is so good to me and who sends me such good milk to
drink.”

When he came he saw the black cow grazing with the boy beside her.

The cow asked no favours for herself, but when the snake asked what she
would like, she said she would like her son, as she called the Brahmin’s son,
to be clothed in gold from head to foot, and that all his body might shine as
gold.

This wish the snake readily granted, but both cow and boy afterwards
regretted their request, for they feared robbers.

One day as the boy had his bath by the river, and combed his long locks of
pure gold, some of his golden hair fell into the water, and was swallowed by
a fish. This fish was caught by a fisherman, and taken for sale to the King’s
Palace. When they cut it open all present admired the lovely golden hair, and
when the Princess saw it, she said she would never be happy again until she
met the owner. The fisherman was asked where he caught the fish, and
people were despatched in all directions in boats to search both far and wide.

At last a man in one of the boats espied in the distance a beautiful shining
object taking a bath by the river-side. Little by little the boat came closer and
closer, until it was alongside; then the man called out and asked the bather to
come a little nearer. At first the Brahmin’s son would not listen, but after a
time he came up to the boat, when, to his surprise, he was at once seized, tied
up, and carried away.

Arrived at the King’s Palace he met the Princess, who was very beautiful;
and when he saw her he forgot everything else, and thought only of her.

After a short time they were married, and spent many happy days together;
but some one chanced to offer them a sweet-meat made of curds, such as the
black cow often gave her boy, and in a frenzy of remorse, the Brahmin’s son
remembered his faithful friend and hastened to the place in the distant forest
where he had last seen her. Arrived there he found only a few bones of dead
cattle strewn about.

He was heart-broken at the sight, and gathered all the bones together into a
funeral pyre, upon which he declared he would lay down his own life; but
just as he was about to do this who should appear but his old friend, the black
cow.

They were overjoyed to see each other, and she told him she had only kept
the bones there to test his affection; but now that she was satisfied that he had
not forgotten her, the meeting was full of happiness and joy, so they held a
great feast for many days and then went their separate ways as before.
 THE BRAHMIN AND THE WILD GEESE
There was once a Brahmin who had a large family, and was very poor. Every
day he went out into the Bazaar to beg, but whether he begged for only an
hour, or for the whole day, he seldom succeeded in getting a seer of atta (two
pounds of flour).

Now this made his wife very angry, for she thought that the longer he
begged, the more he should gain. She suspected that he sold what he was
given, instead of bringing it home for his family, so she accused him and beat
him soundly.

The Brahmin was deeply vexed at her treatment, and determined to go to the
river and there drown himself; yet when he tried to do so, his courage failed,
so he alternately threw himself into the water and then changed his mind and
came out again.

His conduct attracted the attention of a couple of wild geese, who had their
nest near by.

“I wonder what that man is doing; I think I will go and see,” said the gander;
but his wife advised him not, “for who knows the ways of human beings.”

Yet he would not listen, and going up to the Brahmin, asked him the reason
of his strange conduct.

The Brahmin told him everything, and when he had done the goose said:
“Shut your eyes till I tell you to open them.”

The Brahmin did as he was told, and on opening his eyes, the goose held out
to him in its beak, a most valuable and beautiful ruby.

“Take this, my friend, and sell it to a Rajah, and then your troubles will be all
over.”

The Brahmin thanked him warmly, and went off with his treasure to the
nearest State; there the Rajah looked at the ruby, but said he could not afford
to buy so valuable a gem unless the Brahmin would accept for it seven mule
loads of money. This the Brahmin gladly consented to do, and returned to his
home a rich man.

Some time after this, the poor Rajah who had bought the ruby got leprosy,
and called all the physicians he could find to cure him. One of these said he
would be cured if he ate the flesh of a wild goose, and applied its fat to his
hands.

That very day the Rajah sent for the Brahmin, and told him to go without
delay and fetch him a wild goose, when he would reward him greatly. Now,
the Brahmin loved money, and for his greed of gold, forgot all the kindness
of the wild goose, and made up his mind to secure it; so he went to the river
as before, and began to try and drown himself.

The geese watched him with much concern, for they wondered what had
caused this fresh trouble, after all that had been done for him. Perhaps a thief
had stolen the ruby. The old gander ran to enquire, but his wife warned him
not to go.

“What is the matter, O Brahmin?”

“Nothing, my friend, except that I wish to behold your face again.”

“Well, here I am.”

“Ah, not so far, my friend; come nearer that I may caress you,” cried the
Brahmin.

So the foolish bird came nearer, and no sooner had he done so, than the
Brahmin seized him and put him in a bag, with only his head out.

As they went along, the poor goose shed bitter tears of reproach, and each
tear became a beautiful pearl. The Rajah’s son chanced to come that way,
saw the pearls, and followed in their track, until he came to the spot where
the Brahmin sat.

“What is in your bag?” he asked; “and why do pearls fall from it as you walk
along?”

The Brahmin denied that he had anything in his bag, but the Prince would not
listen, and accused him of theft; so at length he opened it, and displayed the
wild goose.

The poor bird told the Prince of all he had done for the Brahmin, and of the
poor return and ingratitude he was having now. This made the Prince very
angry, and he at once released the goose, who gladly flew away.

The Brahmin then went to the Rajah, and told him what his son had done, and
orders were at once given to banish the Prince from the kingdom.

Then the Prince went to the river and told the wild goose of his banishment,
and, out of gratitude, the goose and his wife brought food and fruit daily, and
placed it before him. This went on for some time, and then the geese decided
to find a wife for their visitor.

Now a lovely Princess lived in a Palace close to that place; and one night,
while she slept, the two geese joined wings under her bed, and carried her to
the river. In the morning when she awoke she was surprised to find herself in
this lonely place.

But the Prince met her and told her that he too was banished; and they
became great friends and soon afterwards were married. The wild geese gave
them many beautiful and valuable gifts, and they went to live in the former
home of the Princess.
 THE FOUR-GIFTED PRINCESS
There was once a King, who was sitting with his wife before the fire when
they heard a partridge call. The King said: “That sound comes from the left,”
and his wife said it came from the right, so they had a bet about it, and the
Rajah said: “If you are right you may have my kingdom, and I will cease to
reign any longer;” so he went out, and found that his wife was right.

This being the case, he began to make preparations to leave, and to make
over his kingdom to her; but, as he was about to do this, his servants, who
knew of the bet, advised him not to be so foolish, but to take another wife,
and to do away with this one, rather than part with the kingdom. At first the
King would not listen, but after a time he agreed to leave the matter in their
hands.

That night they waited till the poor Ranee lay asleep, and took her as she
slept, placed her in a box, locked it up, and threw it into a river.

An old Fakir was in the habit of bathing in the river very early in the
morning, and when he came he found the box and opened it. The Ranee was
unconscious, but not dead; so he carried her to his own home, and there
looked after her until she recovered.

Now the Ranee was about to present the kingdom with an heir, and was very
miserable to find herself deserted and in a strange home at such a time, so she
cried bitterly, and three fairies were sent to her assistance.

Soon after this a little daughter was born to her, and when the child was a
month old, the three fairies took their leave, but, before going, each
determined to leave a parting gift for the little Princess.

The first said that whenever she placed her foot on a stone it would turn to
either silver or gold. The second said that whenever she laughed sweet
scented flowers would fall from her lips. The third said that whenever she
cried pearls would fall from her eyes.

All these things came to pass, so in time they built a beautiful Palace.

One day the Rajah passed that way, and asked the Brahmin how he had built
such a lovely Palace in the place of his old mud-hut.

The old man told him how he had found the box, and all about the Queen, his
wife, whom he thought was dead.

The Rajah owned his sin, and implored forgiveness of his wife. At first she
refused to forgive him, but after a time she listened, and the Rajah said that, if
ever again he did anything to vex or hurt her, the old Fakir might punish him
as he thought best.

Now the Indian people dread the punishment of a holy Fakir; so the Queen
returned to her former Palace, and lived happily ever after.
 THE MAN WHO WENT TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE
There was once a Zemindar or Jhut who was very poor, and he had a brother
who was very rich, but the rich brother never helped him at all and often
reproached him for his poverty.

One day the poor Zemindar determined to go out into the wide world to seek
his fortune, and not to return until he had found it.

Having thus made up his mind he set out on his journey, and the first thing he
came across was a King’s Palace, which was in the hands of carpenters and
masons; but no sooner had they built it up on one side, than the other side fell
down, so that the place was at all times under repairs, and caused its owner
much expense and anxiety.
 [To face page 96.
THE MAN WHO WENT TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE

While he stood there the old Fakir opened his eyes and saw him.

As the Zemindar stood watching the place, the King came out, and asked him
who he was, and where he was going; so he told him that it was to seek his
fortune.

“Well, when you get to the place where you find it, will you think of me, and
enquire the reason why my Palace is constantly falling down?”

This the Zemindar promised to do, and then continued on his journey.

The next place he arrived at was a river, and a turtle was on its bank. It asked
him whither he was going, and he said: “To seek my fortune.”

“Friend, remember me when it is found, and say that the poor turtle, although
it lives in water, suffers from a severe burning sensation inwardly. Pray
enquire the reason of this.”

So the Zemindar promised, and, as a reward, the turtle bore him across the
river on its back.

After another long journey, when he was both hungry and footsore, the
Zemindar spied in the distance a most beautiful plum tree. It was the season
for plums, so he determined to have a good feast of the fruit, and plucked one
of the largest and best, but it tasted so bitter that he quickly threw it away,
and, turning to the tree in anger and disappointment, cursed it.

“You are fair to look at, but otherwise good for nothing,” he cried bitterly.

“Alas!” replied the tree, “this is what all travellers say to me. Yet I cannot
discover why my fruits are bitter. Will you, O traveller, find out for me in
your travels, and bring me word?”

After leaving the plum tree, the Zemindar went into a thick jungle, and in the
midst of it found an old Fakir fast asleep. He did not know that this holy man
had slept for twelve years, and was just about to awake. While he stood there
the old Fakir opened his eyes, and saw him.

“Son, you have looked after me while I was asleep; who are you and where
are you going?”
“I am going to seek my fortune, for I am a poor man.”

“Go no further, but return the same way that you have come,” said the old
Fakir.

“Before I go, will you tell me, O holy Fakir, why a certain Rajah’s house is
always falling down, though he is constantly rebuilding it.”

“The Rajah has a daughter who is grown up but unmarried; when she is
married the trouble will cease.”

“A turtle is troubled with burning sensations inwardly, and would be glad to

know the cause.”

“The turtle is full of wisdom, but selfishly keeps all its knowledge to itself.
Let it tell half it knows to another, and it will become quite well.”

“There is a beautiful plum tree whose fruits are bitter to the taste. What is the
cause of this?”

“There is hidden treasure at the root of the tree, and when this is removed, the
fruit will be sweet,” said the old Fakir.

Then the Zemindar thanked him, made a low salaam, and returned the same
way he had come.

First he met the plum tree, and it at once enquired if he had found out why its
fruit was bitter, and he told it the reason.

“It is yours to remove that cause, my friend, so dig quickly, and see what
there is at my roots.”

The Zemindar did as he was bid, and found a box full of treasure—pearls,
and gold, and rubies—so he tied them in his blanket, and went on his way.

At the river his friend the turtle awaited him eagerly; so the Zemindar
explained everything, and the turtle said: “I will impart half the knowledge to
you as a reward; stoop down and listen.”
The man did as he was bid, and the creature imparted great wisdom to him in
whispers.

After this he met the King, who said: “Well, traveller, what news? Have you
found your fortune?”

“Yes, O King, and the cause of your trouble is, that, until your daughter is
married, your house will continue to fall down.”

“Will you marry her?” said the King.

The Zemindar gladly consented, and the marriage took place with great
pomp. After it he returned to his own home, and there his elder brother met
him.

“You see, brother,” said the Zemindar, “that you said it was my fate to have
but a seer of atta (flour a day), but I have found my good fortune at last.”
 THREE WISE MEN AND THE KING’S
DAUGHTER
A King had a very beautiful daughter, and was anxious that she should marry
some one who had made himself famous in some particular way.

Three men in the city came forward and begged the King for her hand in
marriage.

“But what can you do?” asked the King.

“I can tell if a thing is lost, where to find it,” said the first, “and produce it if
required.”

The second said: “I can make such wonderful horses out of wood, that they
can rise to any height and go anywhere.”

The third said: “I can shoot with my bow any living thing.”

The King was pleased, and went and told his daughter, asking her to choose
which she would have as a husband.

“I will tell you to-morrow,” said the girl.

The King agreed, but on the morrow she was nowhere to be found, and her
father, much distressed, went to the three wise men.

“Now,” said he to the first, “tell me where my daughter is.”

“She is with the fairies,” he replied, “and unless the one in charge of her is
killed, she cannot return.”

Then the King turned to the other two men. To the horse-maker he said: “Go
and make me a horse,” and to the other: “Take your bow and arrow, mount
the horse, and go and shoot the fairy: bring my daughter back with you.”

Forthwith the men prepared: the horse was made, and mounted by the man
with his bow and arrows, then they all disappeared into the skies. There they
found the King’s daughter guarded by a fairy.

The third man soon shot the fairy with his bow and arrow, and, lifting the
Princess upon his horse, returned with her to her father.

Now each man felt that he had an equal claim upon her, and had earned her
as his wife; so the King asked her to decide.

“I will marry the man who shot the fairy,” said she, “and no other.”

This decision being final, they had a grand feast in celebration of her
marriage.

Moral.—Those who think they have the best claim, do not always attain their
desires!
 BARBIL’S SON
A Rajah’s son once went to worship at a sacred stone; when there, he beheld
a lovely young girl, so, falling on his face before the stone, he said: “If you
will but give me this girl as my bride, I will give you my head as a sacrifice.”

His prayer was granted, and he married the girl.

For two months he was so happy that he never remembered his vow, but at
the end of that time, a Brahmin came and reminded him of it. So, after
bidding his wife a loving farewell, he went sadly away, and, cutting off his
head, placed it near the stone as a sacrifice.

Now his father, Barbil, missing him, came there to search, and was horrified
to find his son’s dead body with the head offered to the stone.

“What is my life worth to me now? I will also sacrifice myself,” said he, and
forthwith he too cut off his own head and placed it beside that of his son.

The bride, finding neither father nor husband return, went forth in search of
them; and, seeing what had happened, determined to add her own life to the
sacrifice.

She was just about to destroy herself when a voice near by said: “Daughter,
do not hurt yourself. The heads alone are off, but if you take them and place
them beside the bodies, they will unite again.”

The delighted girl immediately did as she was directed, and the two heads
were united to the bodies, so that she once again saw her husband and father
alive.
But no sooner did they begin to speak than she found that she had made a
terrible mistake, for, in her eagerness to restore the heads to their bodies
again, she had not noticed that she had united her husband’s head to his
father’s body, and Barbil’s head to her husband’s body.

While the two men quarrelled over this mistake, the poor girl, greatly
distressed, appealed to the Gods to help her. They bade her cease weeping.

“The head is the principal thing,” said they; “do not mind the body: if you
were the daughter of a poor man and married a Prince, Barbil, having taken
the form of the Prince, is also of royal blood, so it matters not. Let him that
has the head of your husband be your husband again, and he who has the
head of the King be the King.”

Thus they settled the matter, and returned home.

Moral.—The head ruleth the body, and not the body the head!
 THE TIGER AND THE RATS
An old tiger became ill in the jungles, and, being unable to use his teeth, was
much troubled by rats, who used to come and eat his food before he had time
to touch it.

Nearly starved to death, he appealed to the fox, who said: “Why do you not
keep a cat? you will then soon be rid of your trouble.”

The tiger thought this an excellent idea, and immediately sent for a cat.

Now the cat was a very cunning animal, and thought to herself, how nice it
was to be in the service of the tiger. “But,” said she, “I will only drive away
the rats, because, if I kill them, the tiger will have no further need of me, and
my employment will be gone.”

So she kept watching by the tiger all night and drove away the rats.

One day she said to the tiger: “To-night, if you do not mind, I’d like to take a
holiday, and would like you to take care of my kitten.”

“Very well,” said the tiger.

So the cat brought the kitten, and, leaving it with the tiger, went away.

The kitten was a splendid ratter, and, not knowing why it had been put near
the tiger, was surprised and delighted to see the rats, which it speedily killed;
and then arranged in a line to show its mother on her return in the morning.

But as soon as the cat saw them she grew very angry, and said: “What have
you done? you have taken away my employment.”

The poor little kitten said that it did not know that it was not to kill rats, and
was very unhappy.

Then the tiger came forward, and dismissed them both, saying: “I am now rid
of the rats, and require your service no longer.”

So they went away crestfallen.

Moral.—Thus do people often make a convenience of those who are their

best friends!
 THE ADVENTURES OF A BIRD
A small bird was once half buried in a puddle and could not escape, so it
called to a passing stranger for help.

“Take me out, O stranger, and as a reward, you may eat me when my feathers
are dried.”

So the man assisted it; but no sooner were its wings free than it flew away
without expressing a word of gratitude.

After going a short distance it found a cowrie (or small shell, the smallest
current coin in India, and now very rarely used), and joyously exclaimed: “I
have found a cowrie, I have money—I am now higher than a Rajah.”

A Rajah hearing this, sent a man to take away the cowrie. “See,” said he,
“that bird says it is higher than a Rajah.”

So he took the cowrie, and brought it to the Rajah.

Whereupon the bird said: “See, that Rajah was hungry, so he took away my
money.”

This annoyed the Rajah so much (as only the poorest people deal in cowries)
that he immediately restored it to the bird, who, nothing daunted, replied:
“See, the Rajah was afraid, and so he has returned my cowrie.”

This was going a little too far, and the Rajah, in a rage, ordered the offender
to be shot.
Moral.—Let Well alone.
 THE LEGEND OF NALDERA TEMPLE
At a little distance beyond Mushobra in the Simla district, stands an old, old
temple of the Mongolian type, around which hangs a quaint wooden fringe,
which causes a strange rattling sound on a windy day.

No priest lives within its sacred precincts, and the vicinity being the
Viceroy’s summer camping ground, the presiding “Deo,” or deity, must often
be disturbed by the light laughter and chatter of picnic parties from Simla.

Many years ago, before the present Rickshaw Road existed, a party of
hillmen, gaily laughing and talking as they swung along, carrying a “Dandy”
(or kind of litter), arrived at the place.

It was about 11 A.M. on a bright October morning, and the keen wit of the
men as they exchanged repartee with many bright-eyed Paharee maidens,
seemed in keeping with the cool, crisp air and turquoise blue sky; but
suddenly a deep silence fell upon them.

They had come within sight of a number of enormous boulders which lay
scattered, as though hurled by some earthquake or invisible force along the
precipitous mountain side.

Not a word escaped the lips of the four men till they had turned the corner
which bounds Naldera Temple; then they took out their cheelums and smoked
while they told this tale:

“Years and years ago there stood in this place a beautiful and prosperous city,
full of houses and people.
“The present Temple stood in its midst, but the people were wicked and
sinful, so one day the ‘Deo’ arose in great wrath and hurled the entire city
with its inhabitants down into the precipice, so that not one stone was left
standing upon another; and the grey rocks and solitary Temple alone remain
to tell the tale of past splendour and prosperity.”
 THE BUNNIAH’S WIFE AND THE THIEF
A Bunniah, or merchant, lying awake one night, saw a thief enter the room.
So he whispered to his wife: “Wife, wife, a thief is in the room; what are we
to do?”

Now his wife was a very clever woman, and she replied: “Why are you
waking me? I was having such a fine dream.”

“What did you dream?” asked her husband.

“I dreamt that I had three fine sons, and they were named ‘Mugwani,’
‘Hajee,’ and ‘Chor.’ ” (The last name means “thief.”)

“What silly names!” said the Bunniah. “How could you call out to them?”

“By their names, of course,” replied she.

“But how could you call ‘Chor’? If it happened to be night, what would
people think?”

“Why, I would call him like this, loud: ‘Chor!’ ‘Chor!’ ” and she jumped up
and ran out of the room, followed by her husband, the two calling “Chor!
Chor!” as loudly as they could.

The thief, thinking they were only pretending, remained silent under the bed,
waiting for their return. They soon came back with a number of friends, who
caught the thief and took him away to prison.
 WHO STOLE THE RUBY?
A dying King called his three sons to him and gave each of them a ruby.
“Keep this,” said he, “in remembrance of your father.”

The three rubies were put into a box and locked up. Some time afterwards, on
opening the box, only two rubies were found in it, and the third one was
missing.

Now the three sons knew that had a thief been there, he would have helped
himself to all the stones, so they said within themselves: “One of our friends
has done this; let us go and tell the Priest.”

So they started off together, and on the way met a man, who said: “Friends,
have you seen my camel?”

“Was it blind?” asked the eldest brother.

“Yes,” said the man.

“Had it no tail?” asked the second.

“You are right,” said the man.

“Was it carrying vinegar?” enquired the third.

“Yes,” replied the man. “Did you see it?”

“No,” said the brothers; “we did not see it.”

“Very strange,” returned the man; “you know all about it, and yet you did not
see it. I will also go to the Priest and tell him about you.”

So they went, and the man told the Priest his story.

“How is it that you three know all about the camel, and yet you did not see
it?” said the Priest.

“Well,” said the eldest, “I noticed that all the plants and shrubs on the way
were eaten on one side only, so I concluded that the animal who had eaten
them must have been blind not to see the other side.”

“How did you know that it had no tail?”

“I saw the patch of mud where it sat down,” replied the second brother, “and
there was an imprint of a body but no tail.”

The Priest then asked the third boy how he knew that the camel carried
vinegar.

“Because all along the road were wet patches which smelt of vinegar.”

These answers pleased the Priest very much, and he gave a feast for the
brothers.

During the feast he sat down, and, unknown to them, watched and listened to
find out what they were talking about.

The eldest said: “This grain he has given us to eat was grown in a cemetery.”

The second said: “And this meat is not killed meat; it is some other flesh.”

The youngest said: “The Priest himself is a villain.”

Then the Priest ran out and caught the man who had sold him the grain.

“Tell me at once where you gathered this grain?” demanded he.

“From a cemetery,” confessed the man.

After this the Priest sought the butcher, and said: “Where did you get that
meat you sold me? Did you kill the sheep?”

The butcher admitted that it was the flesh of a goat which had dropped dead,
and had not been killed.

Going back, the Priest resolved to catch the boys in their own net, and he told
them a story about two men and a thief.

“Now,” said he, when he had finished, “which of the three do you prefer?”

The eldest boy said he liked one man, and the second the other, but the third
preferred the thief!

“Well,” said the Priest, “if you prefer the thief, you yourself must be a thief.
Where is the third ruby?”

On this the boy confessed that he had stolen it; and, taking it out of his
pocket, restored it to his brother. The three went home together, and lived
happily ever afterwards.
 THE STORY OF VICKRAMADIT
A king once asked his daughters to tell him the reason why they were so
comfortable and always clothed in fine raiment, with jewels to wear, and a
Palace to live in.

They all said: “It is because we are your daughters, O King!”

But the youngest said: “I am what I am through my favourable destiny, and

not because I happen to be your daughter; if good fortune be destined for us
we shall have it under any circumstances.”

At this the King was very angry, and said: “Leave my Palace at once, and see
what your own luck will do for you; methinks your lucky stars will cease to
shine once you have left my Palace.”

But in order to further humiliate her, he determined to get her married to the
poorest man in his kingdom, and one who was weak and sickly and about to
die.

He therefore sent his servants to bring the first sickly-looking pauper they
could find.

Now it so happened about this time that one Vickramadit, a holy mendicant,
was lying outside the Palace gates stricken down with great suffering, and
almost at the point of death; and they brought him as the most suitable man
for the young Princess to marry.

The poor beggar Vickramadit was in reality a great King, who once reigned
over the ancient and holy city of Ujjain; but he had abdicated his throne in
order to become a “Sanyasi,” or begging Fakir, and was then on a pilgrimage
to Kasi, the holy city of Benares, where he hoped to pass the rest of his days
in prayer, and the deeds of charity for which he was well known.

The sickness with which he was stricken down at the gates of the King’s
Palace was caused through his great love of God’s creatures, and happened in
this way.

One day, as he was walking along footsore and tired, a snake came up to him
and said: “Can you give me some water to drink, for I am dying of thirst?”

Vickramadit replied: “I have no water in my gourd, having just drank it; but
if you will promise not to harm me, you may creep down my throat into my
body, and there drink your fill and return satisfied.”

This the snake promised, but, instead of returning, it remained within him and
refused to come back.

All that the beggar ate passed into the mouth of the snake; and in this way he
soon found himself unable to travel, and obliged to rest, suffering at the same
time great agonies from starvation and thirst.

When the King’s servants found and brought him to the Palace, the young
Princess was there and then forced to marry Vickramadit, and expelled from
the town with her beggar husband.

Both King and Queen expressed a hope at parting that she would soon learn
the lesson, that it was all due to them alone that she had fared so well
hitherto.

As Vickramadit could not travel very far owing to weakness, she took shelter
in the first small hut she could find, and there stayed, trying to alleviate his
sufferings.

Now, near this hut was a mound of earth in which dwelt a snake. In the
evenings, as is usual in India, the snake came out of his hole and stood on the
mound of earth, where he hissed violently.
The snake which lived inside Vickramadit heard the sound, and hissed in
reply. Then they began a conversation.

The snake on the mound said: “You traitor! You were given permission to
drink water; and this is how you treat the holy Fakir, and break your promise
to return without doing him any harm! You shall now be given a certain seed
to eat which will entirely destroy your body, and you will die in agonies.”

The other snake replied: “You miser! You ‘dog in the manger,’ who live over
a mound beneath which lies vast treasures and priceless jewels! You know
that you cannot use them yourself, and yet you will allow nobody else to
touch them! Your end will be that a woman will kill you by pouring boiling
milk and butter over you.”

The young wife heard these two snakes denouncing each other, and
determined to act upon what she had overheard. When leaving her father’s
house, she had managed to hide on her person a small pearl ring, and this she
now pawned for a small sum of money, and purchased milk and butter.

Warming these to boiling point, she went over at midday and poured them
into the snake’s hole in the mound.

She also sought the seed, which would kill the snake her husband had
swallowed, and gave it to him to eat.

Thus both snakes were killed, and all danger from them ceased to exist.

Vickramadit, after the destruction of the snake, improved rapidly, and soon
regained his health and strength.

The young wife now turned her attention to the mound of earth, beneath
which lay buried treasures.

She employed a few men to dig, and they soon unearthed several ghurras, or
earthen vessels, full of priceless gems.

With these she went away, and very soon founded a great city, over which
she made her lord King.

Thus Vickramadit once more reigned a King; and no Queen was more
famous than the young Princess who had been so cruelly cast adrift by her
father.

The old father heard of this new King, and of all the riches and splendour of
his Court and Queen; and he sent men to enquire if it were true that his
daughter was really as great as people reported.

The men returned and said: “O King, her riches, the magnificence of her
Court and Palace, surpass all we have heard; she is indeed a great Queen, and
has founded a mighty city.”

The King then owned his mistake, and said: “My daughter was right when
she said her greatness was due more to her individual luck than to the mere
fact that she happened to be born my daughter; for has she not, in spite of all
my ill-treatment of her, risen to be Queen, not of a small kingdom such as
mine, but of a world-renowned kingdom.”

Moral.—Thy kismet is thy fate; when that is good, then the most
unfavourable circumstances, or the deepest gloom, cannot prevent its
asserting itself.
 THE WEAVER
There was a weaver who was unmarried, and all that he could earn in a day,
in exchange for the cloth he wove, only amounted to two pounds of either
rice or other grain.

One day he cooked some kitcherie,1 and, placing it in a plate, left it to get
cool, and went out to sell his cloth.

While he was away a jackal came and ate up the kitcherie; and on his return
he found the jackal, so he tied it up and beat it severely.

Then he cooked some bread, which he ate, and again beat the jackal.

The poor creature thought: “Now my life will go, if this man keeps on
beating me in this way.”

When the man next went out to dispose of his cloth, the jackal, tied up by
itself, felt very lonely, especially as it could hear its companions howling in
the jungles; so it began to howl too, and, hearing it, one of its friends came to
see where it was, and finding it, said: “Brother, what are you doing here?”

The poor jackal, bruised all over and swollen with the beating it had received,
replied: “Friend, a man has caught me, and takes the greatest care of me; see
how fat I have grown with eating all the hulwa-poories2 he gives me. If you
will release me, I will tie you here, and you will get a share of the good
things.”

So the two exchanged places, and the first jackal ran back gladly into the
jungles.
On the return of the weaver he, as usual, began to beat the poor creature, who
then spoke, and said: “Why are you beating me?”

The weaver, surprised, replied: “I have never heard this jackal speak before!”

“That one has gone, and he tied me here in his place, and told me I should get
all sorts of good things to eat; but if you will release me, I will arrange a
marriage with a King’s daughter for you.”

“What!” said the man, “I am only a poor weaver, and can you really get me
married to a King’s daughter?”

“Yes,” returned the jackal.

So the weaver released it, and turning itself into a Brahmin, it crossed the
river and presented itself at the court of a certain Rajah, to whom it said: “O
King, I have found a rich weaver-caste Rajah, who wishes your daughter’s
hand in marriage.”

The Rajah, much pleased, consented, and the Brahmin, on getting outside the
Palace, once more turned into a jackal, and returned to the weaver.

“Follow me,” said he, “and I will take you to the King’s daughter.”

So the weaver took up his blanket, which was all he possessed.

On their way they met a Dhobie, or washerman, carrying his bundle of

clothes. The jackal gave him a gold mohur, and told him to spread all the
clean clothes he possessed upon the trees around.

Further on they met a cotton-beater, or man who, in the East, beats cotton and
prepares it to make up into pillows and quilts; to him they also gave a gold
mohur, and asked in return for several large balls of cotton.

These they carried on a large plate to the river; and the jackal, leaving the
weaver, returned as a Brahmin to the Rajah, who had seen the Dhobie’s
clothes in the distance, and thought they were tents pitched by his daughter’s
future husband.

The jackal had told the weaver to watch, and, as soon as he saw him enter the
Palace, he was to take large lumps of cotton and throw them one by one into
the river, so that they might be seen floating down the stream.

“The Bridegroom,” explained the Brahmin, “has met with a terrible accident;
all his possessions and his followers are lost in the river, and only he and I
remain, dressed in the clothes in which we stand.”

Then the Rajah ordered his musicians and followers to come out, and go with
horses in great pomp to bring the weaver, who was forthwith married to the
Princess.

After the marriage the Brahmin said: “This son-in-law of yours has lost all he
had; what is the use of his returning to his country? Let him stay here with
you.”

To this the Rajah, who loved his daughter, gladly consented, and gave them a
fine house and grounds.

Now the weaver, who was not accustomed to good society, or to living with
those above his station in life, made a salaam, or obeisance, such as a poor
man is wont to do, to his wife every morning, and she began to suspect that
he had deceived her, and was not a real Rajah. So she asked him one day to
tell her the whole truth about himself, and he did so.

“Well,” said she, “you have owned it to me, but do not let my father or
mother know; for now that I am married to you, things cannot be altered, and
it is better that they should remain in ignorance; but whatever my father may
ask you to do, promise me that you will do it, always answering ‘Yes, I will,’
to anything he may suggest.”

To this the weaver agreed; and shortly afterwards the Rajah called him and
enquired if he was willing to help him, and, as promised, the man replied,
“Yes, I will.” Then he went to his wife and told her, and she commended
him.
Next day the King told him that two brothers, by name “Darya” and “Barjo,”
threatened to fight and take his kingdom from him, and he desired his son-in-
law to go to the stables and select a horse on which to ride on the morrow to
battle.

In the stables was a horse that was standing on three legs. “This,” thought the
weaver, “will just suit me, for it seems lame and has only three legs to go on,
and making this an excuse, I’ll keep behind all the rest, and out of danger.”

Now this horse3 used to eat a quarter of a pound of opium daily, and could fly
through the air, so that when the Rajah heard of the selection he was very
delighted, and said to himself: “What a clever man this is, that he is able to
discover which is the best horse!”

The day following he had the horse brought round, and mounted it in fear and
trembling, having himself securely tied on lest he should fall off, while, to
weight himself equally, he fastened a small millstone on either side.

As soon as the groom released the horse, it flew up into the air, then down
again, and then up through the branches of trees, which broke off and clung
to the weaver’s arms and body, so that he presented a strange spectacle. He
was terrified, and kept on crying out: “O Darya! Barjo! for your sakes have I
come to my death.”

The two Princes, Darya and Barjo, seeing this strange horse flying through
the air, and hearing their names coming from a queer object all covered with
branches of trees, were very much alarmed, and said: “If more come like this,
we shall indeed be lost; one is enough for us.”

So they wrote to the King, and said: “We have seen your warrior; stay in your
country, and we will stay in ours: we cannot fight.”

And they sent him a peace-offering.

1 A dish made of rice and lentils cooked together with clarified butter or ghee, and then boiled. ↑
2 Another native dainty made with sugar, etc. ↑
3 This is a well-directed piece of sarcasm against native horse-dealers who drug their horses; also against
would-be judges of horse-flesh. ↑
 THE DOG WHO WAS A RAJAH
A daughter was once born to a Brahmin and his wife, and from the day of its
birth a dog came daily and laid down in the house.

This made the mother say, in jest, when the child would not cease crying:
“Stop, or I shall give you to the dog.”

And the Brahmin added: “I will give her to the dog when she is grown up.”

When the girl grew up, he said to the dog one day, in a fit of temper: “Here,
take my daughter, and do as you wish with her.”

The mother now regretted her jest, which had suggested this idea to her
husband, and said: “Here, my child, take this handful of seeds, and, as you
go, strew them along the road, so that I may know where to find you.”

As the girl went along she scattered the seeds, and at last she arrived at a field
in which was a small baoli, or well. Here she sat down, and told the dog she
was thirsty.

“Go and drink from the well,” said the dog.

As she approached the dog followed her, and they saw a ladder leading to the
bottom of the well, so that they climbed down and came to a fine house with
lovely gardens and flowers, and servants ready to receive them. These
belonged to the dog, who was in reality a Rajah, and only assumed the shape
of a dog when he left the well.

Some time after this the Brahmin expressed a wish to go and visit his
daughter. So his wife told him to follow the track of any freshly sprung-up
little plants he might see.

He followed out her directions, and found the small trees led to the well; and
as he felt thirsty, he looked in and saw the ladder; so he descended by it, and
found the dog had become a Rajah.

Going round the grounds with his daughter, he noticed a house made of gold.
“What is this?” asked he.

“It is for you, my father.”

So he went in and found everything perfect, except that in one of the walls
was a great crack.

“That crack,” explained the Rajah, who had joined them, “was caused when
you first drank water at the well; and it will remain there until you undo the
wrong you did your daughter in giving her to a dog, for you did not then
know who he really was. To undo the wrong you must serve me as my
cowherd for twelve years, after which time the crack in the wall will close up
of its own accord.”

The Brahmin then went to his wife and told her all that had happened; and
they returned together to the Rajah, whose cows he tended for twelve years,
after which the crack in the golden wall came together of itself; and thus the
wrong was righted.
 THE FOURTH WIFE IS THE WISEST
There was a Bunniah who had an only son, who had married four wives; of
these, three were fools, and only one was wise.

For some reason the Rajah of that country got angry with the Bunniah, and
said that he and all his family were to go away, for he would not permit them
to remain in his kingdom any longer; also, they were not to take away any of
their jewels or possessions with them, except such things as they were
wearing at the time.

Hearing this, the youngest of the four wives asked if she might be allowed to
bake some bread, to take for them to eat on the journey.

This was permitted, and, in kneading the flour, she dropped four very
valuable and beautiful rubies into it, and then having cooked the bread,
showed it to the people as she left, and said: “See, I take nothing with me
except this bread.”

They journeyed far away into another country, and were very poor. Then the
Bunniah said to his youngest daughter-in-law: “Daughter, what are we to do
to live? We have no money and no clothes.”

She was silent for a long time, and then said: “We must sell our jewels, but in
the meantime take this”—giving him one of the rubies—“and sell it.”

Now this ruby was worth a very great deal of money, and the Bunniah took it
gratefully, thinking all the time what a wise girl his daughter-in-law was, to
think of bringing it as she had done.
He then went to a rich merchant, who in reality was not a merchant at all, but
a clever thief, and who, as soon as he set eyes on the ruby, knew it to be a
valuable one, and determined to have it.

“Go,” said he to one of his servants, “and bring me a basket full of money
that I may pay for this valuable stone;” and as the servant left, he turned to
the Bunniah, offering him a chair, and said: “Sit down, friend.”

Now this chair was a specially prepared one, being kept by the thief as a trap
for the unwary. The seat was of raw cotton, under which was a great hole into
which anybody who sat on the chair would fall. It was carefully covered over
with a piece of clean white cloth, so that nothing was noticed.

On it the poor Bunniah sat, and as the soft cotton gave way under him, he
found himself in the hole, over which the thief carefully placed a great stone
and left him, while he quietly pocketed the ruby.

As the Bunniah did not return to his home for many days, his daughter-in-law
called her husband, and gave him the second ruby. “Go, seek thy father,” said
she; “and if you find him, bring me back this ruby, and buy food and clothes
with one you will find with him.”

The young man searched high and low for his father, but, not finding him, he
decided to sell his ruby, and by ill chance went to the same merchant who
had robbed the Bunniah.

The thief treated him in exactly the same way, and, after having stolen the
ruby, trapped him into the same hole as his father.

Finding that neither husband nor father returned, the woman sold her jewels,
and bought clothes and food for the rest of the family; but for herself she
secretly bought the outfit of a policeman, or chowkidar, and resolved to work
in that capacity. So she presented herself at the King’s Court, and he, taking a
fancy to the handsome face of the young man (for she was disguised as such),
gave her employment.

Living in the jungles near that place was a terrible “Rakhas,” or evil spirit,
and that night, while on duty, the new policeman was startled by a roar like
that of a tiger; but as soon as the “Rakhas” perceived him, it assumed the
form of a woman, and coming up, said weeping: “The Rajah has hanged my
husband, and I wish to see him once more, but cannot reach because the
gallows are high.”

“Climb upon my back,” said the policeman.

The woman did so, but as soon as she got near enough she began to eat her
supposed husband.

On this the young policeman, drawing his sword, cut off the woman’s head,
and as she fell, being enchanted, she disappeared, but a silver anklet from one
of her feet was left behind.

Next morning the policeman carried the anklet to the King, and told him what
had happened, and how the strange woman had disappeared as he struck her
with his sword.

The King was much pleased at the youth’s bravery, and also with the silver
anklet, which was full of precious stones of great value, and, turning to the
policeman, he said: “Ask what you will, and I will give it to you, even if you
ask my daughter in marriage.”

The man replied: “O King, I ask nothing; but grant me, I pray you, control
over the entire bazaar, that I may kill, banish, hang, or release, and do as I
like with the people who dwell there.”

The King granted this request, and having discovered the thief in the
supposed merchant, the policeman went to him and boldly demanded the
release of his father and son.

But the thief denied all knowledge of the affair.

Then the young man entered the shop, and, lifting up the great stone, beheld
the two unfortunate men, who were nearly starved to death.
Having released them, he took the thief to the King, and told him what had
happened. After they had hanged the wicked thief, the young policeman
changed his clothes and appeared as a woman.

The King was greatly surprised, but so pleased at all she had done, that he
called her his “daughter,” and gave her husband, father, and other relations
money and goods, so that they lived in contentment for the rest of their lives.
 THE STORY OF PIR SAB
Very, very far away in the north of India is a big river, and many years ago
there lived, not very far from its banks, an old woman who had an only
daughter—a beautiful girl, who, when she grew up, was given in marriage to
a man who lived in a village on the opposite bank of the river; and all
preliminaries being arranged, a day was fixed for the marriage party with the
bride to cross over.

A gay company with songs and music set out, and everything went well until
they reached the middle of the stream. The current is strong and dangerous in
that place, and in less time than it takes to say it, the joyous party, with its
music and songs and drummers, and the litter which held the bride, was
hurled into the seething water, and every soul sank and was drowned.

The old woman alone, who had remained at home on account of her feeble
age, escaped, and sad indeed was she when she came to hear of her
daughter’s fate.

Her own home grew lonely and uncongenial to her, so, in a half-frenzied
state, she betook herself to the river side, and there spent many hours every
day calling to the river to give up her dead.

This went on for twenty years! One day Pir Sab, a pious Mahamedan, arrived
there, and was about to say his prayers when the old woman attracted his
attention.

“Pray, why do you weep, old woman?” he said.

“For my child, a beautiful bride who, with all her wedding guests, was
drowned in this river twenty years ago.”

“Twenty years! and you have mourned so long?” Thus saying, Pir Sab
dismounted from his horse, and covering his head with a sheet, he stood by
the river and cried: “O river, restore the dead! O river, restore the dead! O
river, restore the dead!”
 [To face page 142.
THE STORY OF PIR SAB

The old woman alone remained at home on account of her feeble age.

At the third cry a bridal party was seen to approach, and the long-lost ones,
with the young bride, were restored to the old woman as unchanged as upon
the day they were drowned, and in perfect ignorance of the flight of years.

A voice was then heard from the Great Unseen, which said: “O Pir Sab, I
have heard your prayer. At your first cry these restored ones came forth from
the fishes, who had eaten them; at your second call I re-formed them into
human form; and at your third call they went forth with life.”

Now, who was Pir Sab, and how did he possess this power?

Mahamed, when he was upon earth, sometimes took flights into Heaven. On
such occasions he generally called on anybody near at hand to assist him up,
or give him a push upwards. On one occasion he had called thrice for help
without meeting with any response, when Pir Sab, a strong man, knelt before
him, and with one spring from his shoulder, Mahamed reached the fourth
Heavens!

In return for this kindness it was granted to Pir Sab to perform miracles.

Note.—The man who related this story to me added the following modern miracle:

“During the late Chitral expedition there was with Umra Khan’s forces a remarkable man, the son of
one Akhum Sab, who died some years ago. Now Akhum Sab was a devout man, who never failed to
pray every Friday, as all good Mahamedans do, with their faces turned towards Mecca, the holy city,
which is four months’ journey from the north of India, so that many who wish to visit it cannot. Yet this
man used to enter his room, and close the door at two o’clock daily, and come out after seven minutes
(you may believe me or not); but, during those seven minutes, he went to Mecca, said his prayers in the
holy Mosque there, and returned! This he did every Friday; I have seen it with my own eyes!”—A.E.D.
 THE ORIGIN OF A RIVER
There stands on the old Agra Bombay Road, between Goona in Central India
and Jhansi, a small village beside a stream, and this used to be a bathing stage
for travellers in the old days, before railways were known in India.

In the village there once lived a man whose wife died, leaving an only
daughter. The girl, as she grew to womanhood, had a very bad time of it, as
all the housework fell upon her shoulders. She had to cook her father’s food
and carry it to him in the fields; to draw water for the cattle and look after
them, besides many other things which took up her time and strength.

So she invoked the aid of the Gods.

Next time she went to draw water from the well, which was a very deep one,
and required a long, long string for the bucket, she looked in, and lo! the
water had risen to the top, and was almost overflowing, so that there was no
need to draw any; and her father’s cattle stood round and drank their fill.

Then she filled her chattie with water, and enjoyed a bath in the sunshine.

After a time the water sank to its usual level. Thus far all was well, but her
father noticed how quickly the cattle had been watered, and how soon his
daughter returned home: also he missed the long rope which she always
carried on her arm. He began to suspect that some unknown man, a stranger
to himself, used to help her, and determined to watch.

A great fig tree grew beside the well; and one day he concealed himself in its
branches.
As usual, his daughter came with the cattle, and all happened as before. He
was struck with wonder and amazement at what he saw.

Just as the girl was about to take her usual bath, she looked up and saw him.

In a moment she felt that he had suspected her of some evil. “Father,” cried
she, “why do you look with an evil eye on your child? Do you not believe
that the Gods have helped her?”

But before her father could reply, she sank down to the bottom of the well
with the water and never rose again, for the outraged Gods took her to
themselves; and, in token of their displeasure, the well was cleft from top to
bottom, and hillocks formed on either side. From this spot flows a tiny
stream, which, if you follow it, becomes a mighty river.
 THE GOLDEN SCORPIONS
There once lived in a certain village a poor man who went out daily to beg,
carrying in his hand a small vessel made from a gourd, such as the Jogis, or
holy Fakirs, in India use.

In it he carried home his scanty meal of flour each evening.

One day he placed the gourd, which was empty at the time, upon the ground,
and went to some little distance to drink water.

On his return he was amazed to find it full of scorpions.

Seizing it on one side, he carefully knocked it against a stone until the

venomous things dropped off.

Great indeed was his surprise to find when he next looked into his gourd, that
several scorpions still clung to it, but had been transformed by the Gods into
pure gold, although their forms were retained.

Thus the good old man was enriched, but great was his disappointment when
he remembered how many scorpions he had thrown away, for these might
also have turned into gold had he kept them.

Moral.—There is good sometimes in even the evil things in life.

 THE STORY OF A PEARL
A poor workman and his wife were once almost starving. Every day the man
gathered sticks and sold them, while the woman remained at home.

“Wife,” said the man one day, “come, we will both go and gather wood for
sale to-day, so that, if we earn enough, we shall not eat rice only, but will buy
a small fish, and eat that also.”

The woman agreed, and having sold their stock of firewood, they returned
home with a fish for dinner.

On opening it, a small white bead, round and shining, fell upon the floor. The
woman was attracted by its brightness, and locked it up in a box.

Many days of poverty and hunger visited that household before the woman
remembered the pretty stone found in the fish; but at last she thought of it,
and took it to a Bunniah, who, as soon as he set eyes upon it, said: “Give me
that, and I will give you as much as you can carry away of ghee and food and
oil, not only to-day, but for many days, if you will come to my shop.”

The foolish woman parted with her treasure, not knowing that it was a pearl
of great value, and returned home laden with good things.

The Bunniah chuckled with delight. He was crafty, like all Bunniahs, and,
you may depend, never kept his promise: such was the foolishness of the
woman, and such the cunning and greed of the man.
 THE BUNNIAH’S GHOST
Far away in a valley in the Himalayan mountains lies a little village, where
once lived a good man who had his home beside a field in which grew a
beautiful mulberry tree—so big and so beautiful that it was the wonder of the
country round.

Hundreds of people were wont to gather together beneath it, and the poor
carried away basket loads of its fruit. Thus it became a meeting place where a
mela, or fair, was held when the fruit season was on.

Now the fame of it reached a certain Rajah who had rented out the land, and
one day he came with all his retinue to see it.

“There is no such tree in the Royal Gardens,” said the Grand Vizier.

“It is not meet that a subject should possess what the Rajah hath not,” added
the Prime Minister.
 [To face page 152.
THE BUNNIAH’S GHOST

Could it be fancy, or did he see a strange man standing before him?

The Rajah replied not a word, for his heart was filled with envy; and that
night, before going to bed, he gave orders that, on a certain day, in the early
dawn, before anybody was astir, a party of armed men should take their axes
to the village, and fell the mulberry tree even with the ground. But ill dreams
disturbed the Rajah’s rest, and he could not sleep.

Could it be fancy, or did he really see a strange man standing before him?

The strange man spoke: “O King, live for ever! I am the spirit of a Bunniah
(or merchant) who died in yonder village many years ago. During my lifetime
I defrauded the people. I gave them short measure and adulterated their food.

“When I died and passed into the Land of Unhappy Spirits, the Gods, who
are just, O King! decreed that I should give back what I had stolen. My soul
therefore went into a mulberry tree, where year after year the people gather
fruit, and regain their losses.

“In one year more they will be repaid to the uttermost cowrie;1 but you mean
to destroy the tree and drive my soul I know not whither. Wherefore have I
come to plead with you to spare it this once, for when a year is past it will die
of itself and my soul find its way to that Land of Shadows which is the abode
of the Gods—where it will find peace.”

So the Rajah listened, and the strange man went away.

For one year longer the people sat as before under the cool shadow of the
mulberry tree, and then it died. And was that all?

No: when they cut it down there was found deep in the earth one living root,
and that they left, for who can destroy the soul?

Hindu Proverb.—“Pün ki jar sada hari.” (The roots of charity are always
green.)

1 The smallest current or shell money of India. ↑

 BICKERMANJI THE INQUISITIVE
There was a certain Rajah whose name was Bickermanji. He was very
inquisitive, and always wished to know everything that was going on in his
kingdom, and what his subjects were doing.

At night he disguised himself in common clothes and a blanket, and walked

quietly in the streets and bazaars to spy on the people. Next day, when
complaints were brought to him of the doings of this or that person, he knew
all about it.

In this way he observed that a certain woman, the wife of a Sowcar, or

Bunniah, used to leave her home every night, carrying a ghurra, or chattie,
on her head and some food in her hand. Arrived at the river, she floated the
chattie, and sat upon it, thus getting a passage to the other side, where she
visited a certain Fakir.

In the early morning she returned, carrying the chattie full of water for the
day’s use; and this being an everyday custom with native women in the East,
it was never suspected that she had spent nearly the whole night away from
her home. Bickermanji observed all this, and wondered to himself how the
matter would end.

One day the woman’s husband, who had been away in another country,
returned, so she had to attend to his food, and could not get away as early as
usual to carry dainty dishes to the Fakir, who was very angry when she
arrived late, and made her excuses on account of her husband’s arrival.

“What do I care for your husband?” said the Fakir. “Is he better than a holy
mendicant? Go this moment and bring me his head.”

This she did, much to the Fakir’s surprise; but, instead of being pleased at her
obedience to his wishes, he was angry, and said: “If you killed your husband,
you will one day kill me also.”

So he drove her from his presence, and she returned to her own home, where,
taking her husband’s head upon her knee, she set up a great weeping and
lamentation, which attracted all her neighbours and brought them together.

“My husband had only just returned from a journey, bringing money; and
see, thieves have stolen his money, and murdered him during the night.”

Her neighbours believed this, and prepared to carry her husband to the
burning ghât, for he was a Hindoo. While they did this, the woman declared
that she would follow, and perform the sacred rite of suttee, or being burnt
upon her husband’s funeral pyre.

Although impressed by her supposed devotion to her husband, her friends

wrote to Bickermanji, and begged him to prevent her.

Bickermanji knew all that had really happened, and meant to show his own
wisdom and the woman’s crime, also to punish her as he thought best. So he
promptly forbade the suttee.

The widow then wrote to Rajah Bickermanji’s stepmother, a very clever

woman, and asked her to intercede, that she might die with her husband.
Then his stepmother said: “My son, allow this suttee to take place, and within
eight days I will give you my reasons.”

This aroused the curiosity of his nature, and, much against his will, he
consented; so the woman had her own way.

He waited impatiently for the eight days to be over, and then went to his
stepmother, who ordered a dooly, and, taking with her a goat, asked him to
accompany her to the nearest temple. Arrived there, she asked him to stand at
the door, and left the goat outside.
“If, when I come to the door, I say ‘kill,’ you are to kill the goat, but if not,
stand where you are,” were the old woman’s instructions as she went to make
her offering of fruit and flowers and sweets.

Soon she returned, and said: “Kill,” so Bickermanji cut off the head of the
goat. “Sit upon the head, my son.”

And he did as he was told, but no sooner had he done so, when the head rose
up into the air with him, away through space for hundreds of miles, until he
came to a wall which surrounded a space twelve miles square. In this was a
garden and beautiful house; and after wandering some little time,
Bickermanji found water and food, a comfortable couch to lie upon, and a
hookah, or native pipe, to smoke, but not a human being was anywhere to be
seen. This puzzled him, but as he was both hungry and tired, he made a good
meal, smoked his hookah, and laid down to sleep.

“If I sleep, I sleep, if I die, I die; a man can but die once.”

Now the place belonged to a purree, or winged fairy being, who used to
come to it during the night, and remain away all day. The servants came an
hour or two beforehand just to see everything was comfortable; and when
they found Bickermanji lying fast asleep, they wished to kill him, but an old
woman interceded on his behalf, so they let him alone until the purree came.

Bickermanji was greatly surprised to see a strange winged being standing

before him, and expected immediate death; but the Strange One spoke kindly,
and begged him not to fear, but to make the place his home for as long as he
liked.

Each day passed by quietly, and in the pleasures and ease of his present
existence, Bickermanji soon forgot his kingdom, his wife, and his children.

Before going away one morning the purree said: “There are four rooms in
this house which you must never open; I will point them out to you, but, for
the rest, you may use them as you will.”

This request at once excited Bickermanji’s old spirit of curiosity; and, as soon
as he found himself alone, he went quickly to the door of the first room and
opened it.

Within stood a horse, which turned gladly towards him, and said: “I have not
seen the light of day, or had an hour’s freedom, ever since I was given to the
fairy by Rajah Sudra. If you will take me out, I will show you all the world,
and even the secret place where the fairies dance.”

Bickermanji was delighted, and immediately led out the horse, which he
saddled, mounted, and rode for a wonderful and delightful ride.

In the evening the fairy, or purree, again warned him against opening any of
the four forbidden doors; but the very next day he opened the second one, and
there found a large elephant chained up.

The elephant complained bitterly of its fate, and begged Bickermanji to pity
it, and take it out, which, if he did, it would in return show him much that was
wonderful in the world; so Bickermanji again had a very interesting day.

On the morning following he opened the third door and found a camel inside.
It too took him to all sorts of new and interesting places which were the
haunts of fairy beings.

Now only one door was left, and Bickermanji determined to open that also;
and when he did, he beheld a donkey, standing inside. The donkey
complained just as the other animals had done, and begged for its release; but
as Bickermanji mounted it for his usual ride, he found himself back in his old
kingdom.

“My back aches,” said the donkey; “leave me a while to rest, and go you, in
the meantime, to the nearest bazaar for food. When you return you will find
me here.”

But when Bickermanji returned there was no donkey to be seen; so he tore

his hair and wept bitterly, asking all the passers-by if any of them had seen
his ghuddee, or donkey.
Many of the inhabitants of the town recognised him, and said: “Our Rajah
has come back, and is asking for his ghuddee,” which, in Hindustanee, means
“throne” as well as “donkey.”

At last his stepmother heard of his return, and sent for him. He told her that
he would give anything to be able to return to the place from which the
donkey had brought him.

“Was it not I who sent you there,” she replied, “and could not I send you
back again? What are you willing to do in order to return? Are you willing to
slay your own son to go?”

“Yes, I would even do that.”

“Well, come with me as before to the temple, only, instead of a goat, take
your son with you, and a sword. When I say ‘kill’ you must kill, but not
before.”

So the three went to the temple, and the stepmother stood in the doorway and
cried “Kill”; but before the Rajah could raise his sword she rushed forward
and seized it.

“Stop! do not kill your son. Do you remember the suttee, and how you judged
her and wished to punish her for killing her husband on account of a friend,
and now you would kill your own son for the sake of pleasure! All that has
happened has been done to teach you a lesson; go you to your Palace, and
there reign with greater wisdom than before.”

Moral.—“Judge not, that ye be not judged.”

 THE BRAHMIN’S DAUGHTER
A certain Brahmin’s wife had no affection for her seven stepdaughters, and
persuaded their father to get rid of them. So he invited the girls to come with
him on a visit to their grandmother, but on the way he slipped away quietly
and left them eating plums in the jungle.

After a while they found themselves all alone, and as night fell were very
frightened, and hid themselves in the hollow of a large tree. Here a tiger
found them and ate six, leaving only the youngest sister alive.

She hid in the tree for several days, and at last a Rajah found her, and asked
how she had got there. Then she told him the whole story, and he felt pity for
her and married her.

But she often wondered what had become of her father, and whether he was
alive or dead; and when she remembered the fate of her sisters, she secretly
made up her mind to be revenged on her stepmother.

Then she called a crow, and asked it if it would go to her former home with a
letter from her. In the letter she told her father of her sisters’ fate and of her
own good fortune.

The crow carried the news to her father, and, greatly surprised, he read the
contents of his daughter’s letter to his wife.

The woman was mercenary as well as cruel, and advised him to lose no time
in visiting her, and bringing back all the money he could secure.

So the Brahmin went and spent eight or nine days in the Palace.
As he was preparing to return home, the girl called him, and gave him a box
containing a snake, a scorpion, and a wasp; and as it was securely locked, he
had no suspicion of its contents.

“Take this,” she said, “and give it with the key to my mother; let her be alone
in her room when she receives it, so that she may enjoy my gifts by herself.”

Then she gave him another box full of clothes and jewels and money for
himself.

After a long journey, the Brahmin arrived at his home, and said to his wife:
“This box is for me, and this one for you; keep it carefully, and open it when
you are alone; here is the key.” So saying he went out, shut the door, and put
on the chain.

Soon the woman began to cry: “I’m bitten, I’m bitten!” but he mistook it for
“I’ve eaten, I’ve eaten!” meaning that he should come and share the feast. So
he replied: “I’ve had my share, you eat what is your own share.”

When he opened the door, he found her dead, so he packed up his things and
returned to his daughter, and lived happily ever after.
 ABUL HUSSAIN
There was a man called Abul Hussain who was once very rich, but had been
so foolish in entertaining all his friends that he lost all his money, and became
very poor.

He and his old mother lived together, and sometimes, when he felt lonely, he
would walk out and call in two or three men, any passing strangers whom he
chanced to meet, and ask them to come in and have a talk and smoke with
him. When they left his house, he never expected to see them again.

On one occasion he accosted a man dressed in plain clothes, who, with two
others, was taking a stroll, and said: “Friend, come in and have a chat with
me.”

The man—who was really the King—with his two followers, went in; and,
after they had talked some time and made merry over wine, Abul said: “I
should like to exchange places with the King for just one day.”

“Why?” asked the King.

“Because the Priest who prays in the Musjid here, and his four friends, are
very wicked men, and I should like to have them killed.”

The King, while talking, took out some powder which had the effect of
putting a person to sleep, and secretly dropped it into the wine Abul was
drinking. Shortly afterwards Abul fell into a deep sleep.

The King then said to his servants: “Remove this man and take him to my
Palace; change his clothes for some of mine, place him in my bed, and, until I
give further orders, recognise him as your King, and let him use as much
money as he likes.”

The servants did as he told them, took up the sleeping man and put him to
bed in the King’s Palace.

Early next morning the servants came to wake Abul, and said: “Will Your
Majesty rise this morning?”

Abul rubbed his eyes and looked, and behold, he was in a King’s room and
the King’s servant was addressing him! He saw his clothes, and wondered
who he was, and what had happened: then he turned to the man and said:
“Who am I?”

The man replied: “You are our King.”

“Am I?” returned the puzzled Abul, and, rising, he heard strains of music,
and knew that the band was playing, as it always does on the awaking of a
King in the morning.

He washed and dressed and went with his Vizier to hold court. While there,
he said to his courtiers: “There is a man living in a certain house, and his
name is Abul, I want you to take to his mother a bag of a thousand rupees.
Also go to the Musjid; catch the old Priest, give him one hundred stripes, put
him and his four friends on donkeys, and drive them out of the city.”

All day Abul reigned as King, but when night came, the servants, who had
been instructed what to do by the real King, once more put sleeping powder
into his wine, and while he slept removed him to his own home, and put him
into his own bed again.

When he awoke there in the morning he called to his servants, but no one
answered, except his old mother, who came and stood beside him.

“Why do you call your servants?” she asked.

“Because I am a King,” he replied. “Who are you?”

“I am your mother, my son, and think you must be dreaming. If the King
hears about this he will be so angry that perhaps he will have you killed. You
are only the son of a poor man; and do not vex the King, for he has been very
good, and sent us a present of a thousand rupees yesterday.”

Abul, however, would not listen, but kept on insisting that he was King, so at
last the King had him locked up in prison, declaring that he must be mad.
There he was kept until he ceased to say that he was King, and then he was
released.

On his return home, he once more invited some strange men, and, as before,
the King was amongst them, and again surreptitiously put the sleeping
powder into Abul’s wine, and caused him to be removed and put into his
Palace on his bed while he was unconscious.

Next morning on waking Abul felt sure that it must be a dream this time, and
he kept rubbing his eyes and asking the servants who he was. The servants
replied: “Why, you are our King.”

Abul was more than puzzled, and, pointing to his arms, which still bore the
marks of bruises from stripes received in prison, said: “If I am really the
King, why have I these bruises? I have been put in prison, and these are the
marks where I was beaten.”

But the servant said: “Your Majesty is dreaming; you are a King, and a very
great King.”

On this Abul got up, and hearing the strains of music, he was so delighted at
his lucky position that he began to dance about the room, while the King,
who was peeping from a doorway, stood and laughed so much that he was
almost choked. At last, being unable to restrain himself longer, he called out:
“O Abul, do you wish to kill me with laughter?”

On this Abul discovered that the King had been playing a practical joke on
him, and he said: “O King, you have given me much misery.”

“Have I?” said the King. “Well, as much misery as I have given you, so much
pleasure shall you now have;” and he gave him a present of heaps of money
and a beautiful wife, sending him away with the assurance that he would
never be poor any more.

Very soon Abul ran through all his money, and, hoping to get some more
from the King, planned with his wife to pay another visit to the Palace.

Then he went to the King and, crying and wringing his hands, said: “O King,
my wife is dead.”

The King, much shocked and grieved, gave him a than1 of cloth and a
thousand rupees, and told him to go and bury his wife.

In the meantime his wife had gone to the Queen’s apartments, and there,
throwing herself on her face, she wept and said: “O Queen, my husband is
dead, and I am most unhappy!”

The Queen, deeply grieved, gave her a thousand rupees and a than of cloth,
saying: “Go, bury thy dead.”

Abul and his wife were now most happy, and set to work to make themselves
clothes with the new cloth they had received.

Now it happened that day that the King went to see his Queen, and, finding
her in tears, enquired the cause of her grief.

“Abul’s wife has just been to say Abul is dead.”

“No,” said the King; “you mean that Abul has just been to say that his wife is
dead.”

“No,” replied the Queen, “Abul is dead.”

“Not at all,” returned the King; “Abul’s wife is dead,” and they fell out and
quarrelled about it.

Then the King said: “Well, we’ll make a contract: if I am wrong, then I’ll
give you a present of a garden.”

And the Queen said: “Very well; and if I am mistaken, I will give you my
picture gallery.”

On this the King and Queen together went with a number of followers to the
house of Abul.

When Abul and his wife saw them coming they were so frightened that they
did not know what to do, and, having no time to run away, they both got
under the cloth they were sewing, and lay quite still as though they were
dead.

The King and Queen coming up were surprised indeed to find that both were
really dead; but the King, remembering his promise to his wife, said: “Now,
if we only could find out who died first.”

On this Abul crept out quietly, fell at the King’s feet, and cried: “Your
Majesty, I died first.”

At the same time his wife crawled out and prostrated herself at the Queen’s
feet, saying: “Your Majesty, I died first.”

All the followers began to laugh, and so did the King, who asked Abul why
he had done this thing. Abul then confessed how he had squandered all the
money which the King had given, and, not knowing how to get any more, had
determined to do what he had done.

The King, pleased at Abul’s cleverness, gave him houses and money, so that
he never again suffered any want.

1 A than is a length of cloth which varies from five yards to twenty yards, or more. ↑
 THE MAGICIAN AND THE MERCHANT
One day a merchant, going for a stroll, came across a date tree; reaching up
his hand, he plucked a date and threw the stone away.

Now, near the spot where it fell there lived a wicked magician, who suddenly
appeared before the frightened merchant, and told him he was going to kill
him.

“You have put out my son’s eye,” said he, “by throwing the stone into it, and
now you shall pay for the deed with your life.”

The poor merchant begged and implored for mercy, but the magician refused.
At last the merchant asked that he might be allowed to go home and settle his
affairs. and distribute his goods amongst his family, after which he promised
to return.

To this the magician consented, so the merchant departed, and spent a last
happy year with his wife and children. Then, after dividing his goods
amongst them, bade them farewell, and with many tears, left them, that he
might return to the magician and fulfil his promise.

Arrived at the spot, he saw an old man, who asked him why he came to such
a place. “A wicked magician lives here,” said he, “who kills people, or else
changes them into animals or birds.”

“Alas!” cried the unfortunate merchant, “that is just what my fate will be, for
I have come in fulfilment of a promise to return after a year and be killed.”

Just then two other old men came, and, while the four were conversing
together, the magician, sword in hand, suddenly appeared and rushed at the
merchant to kill him.

On this the old man interceded, and said: “O Magician, if what I have
suffered be more than you have suffered in the loss of your son’s eye, then
indeed give this man double punishment: let me, I beg you, tell my story.”

“Say on,” said the magician.

“Do you see this deer?” said the old man; “it is my wife. I was once married
to a wife, but after a time I wearied of her, and married another wife, who
presented me with a son. I took both the woman and her child to my first
wife, and asked her to feed and take care of them; but she, being jealous,
changed my wife into a cow, and my son into a calf. After a year I returned
and enquired after my wife and child. My first wife said: ‘Your wife is dead,
and for the last two days your child has been missing.’

“Now it happened at that time that I wanted to offer a sacrifice, and, asking
for a suitable offering, my second wife was brought to me. She fell at my
feet, and looked so unhappy that I could not kill her, and sent her away. Then
my wife grew very angry, and insisted upon the sacrifice. At last I consented,
and the poor cow was killed.1

“Then I asked for another offering, and the calf was brought. It too looked at
me with tearful eyes, and I had not the heart to kill it, but gave it to a
cowherd, and told him to bring it back to me after a year. He kept it with his
other cattle, and one day a young girl who saw it began to laugh and cry. On
this the cowherd asked her reason for such conduct, and she replied: ‘That
calf is not really what it appears to be, but is a young man, and his mother
was the cow who was sacrificed some time ago.’

“Then the cowherd ran to me and told me the girl’s story, and I went at once
to her to ask whether it was really true, and if she could not restore my son to
his original shape again. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘on two conditions. One, that I
may be allowed to marry your son, and the other, that I may do as I please
with your first wife.’
“To this I consented, so she took some water and sprinkled it upon the calf,
which at once turned into my son again. With some of the same water she
sprinkled my wife, who there and then turned into a deer.

“Now, I might easily kill her if I liked; but, knowing that she is my wife, I
take her with me wherever I go.”

Then the second old man said: “Hear my story. I was one of three brothers.
My father died, and we divided his clothes and money amongst us. My eldest
brother and I became merchants, but my third brother ran away, wasted and
squandered his money, and became a beggar. He returned home, and begged
us to forgive him, which we did, and gave him one thousand rupees to buy
merchandise.

“We three then went across the seas to buy goods. On the seashore I saw a
very beautiful woman, and asked her if she would come across the sea with
me. She consented; but when my brothers saw her they grew jealous, and, as
soon as the ship sailed, they took her and threw her into the sea, and me after
her. But she, being an Enchanted Being, rose to the surface of the water
unhurt, and, taking me up, carried me to a place of safety on the seashore.

“Then she said she was very angry with my brothers and meant to kill them
both. I begged in vain that she would spare them, so at last she consented to
punish them in some other way instead of killing them.

“When next I visited at the house of my brothers, two dogs fell at my feet and
cowered before me. Then the woman told me that they were my brothers, and
would remain dogs for twelve years, after which time they would resume
their natural shapes.”

The third old man began to tell his story. “I had the misfortune to marry a
witch, who, soon after my marriage, turned me into a dog. I fled from the
house, and ate such scraps of food as were thrown away by the store-keepers
in the market place.

“One day one of the men there took me home, but his daughter turned away
her head each time she looked at me. At last her father enquired her reason
for doing this, and she replied: ‘Father, that is not a dog, but a man whose
wife is a witch, and it is she who has changed him into a dog. I will restore
him again to his former shape.’ So she sprinkled water upon me, and I
forthwith regained the shape of a man. I then asked her if I might not punish
my wife, and she gave me some water and told me to go and sprinkle it upon
the wicked witch.

“I did this, and she became a donkey! Yet I keep her, and take care of her,
and pray you, even as we had mercy, to so have mercy upon this man.”

So the magician forgave the man, and let him go.

1 This story was told by a Mahamedan woman, and I should think it was of Mahamedan origin, as
no Hindu would even distantly refer to the slaughter of a cow, and such a story told by a Mahamedan to
a Hindu would cause intense ill-feeling. ↑
 THE SNAKE AND THE FROG
A Rajah had two sons. The eldest ascended the throne after his father’s death,
but fearing lest his brother might interfere with him, he ordered him to be
killed.

The poor boy, hearing of this order, quietly left the house and escaped into
the jungles, where he saw a snake with a frog in its mouth which it was trying
to swallow.

As the young Rajah approached, he heard the frog say: “Oh, if God would
only send some one to rescue me from the snake, how thankful I should be.”

The Rajah, full of pity, threw a stone at the snake, and it immediately
released the frog, which hopped away.

The snake remained still, dazed by the hurt received by the stone. Now, the
Rajah felt sorry for it, and thought to himself: “I have taken away its natural
food;” so, quickly cutting off a piece of his own flesh, he threw it to the
snake, saying: “Here, take this instead.”

The snake took it home, and when its wife saw it, she said: “This is very
good flesh; where did you get it?”

The snake told her what had happened, and she said: “Go back to that man
and reward him for what he has done.”

Then the snake assumed the form of a man, and, going back to the Rajah,
said: “I will be your servant, if you will take me.”
The Rajah agreed, and his new servant followed him.

The frog, meantime, had also gone home and told his wife of the narrow
escape he had from the snake, and how a man had saved him from its very
jaws.

“Go back,” said she, “and serve him, to prove your gratitude.”

So he also took the form of a man and offered himself as a servant to the
Rajah. “Come,” said he, “and we three will live together.”

Then they entered a city belonging to a great King, and the three of them
offered to work for him.

“But,” said the young Rajah, “I will only work on condition that you pay me
a thousand rupees a day.”

To this the King agreed, and they were employed by him.

The young Rajah gave his own two followers one hundred rupees a day; and,
after putting aside one hundred for his own requirements, distributed the rest
in charity.

One day the King went to take a bath in the tank, or pond, and while bathing,
his ring slipped off and fell into the water.

He therefore called the young Rajah and said to him: “Go and get my ring
which is in that tank.”

This made the youth very sad, “For,” thought he, “how am I to get a ring
from the bottom of a tank?”

But his servant who had once been a frog begged him not to be sad, and said:
“I will get it for you.”

So, quickly taking his old form, he dived into the water and restored the ring
to his master, who took it to the King.
Some time after this the King’s daughter was bitten by a snake, and in great
danger of death. “Make my child well,” demanded the King of the young
Rajah. But this was hard to do, and the youth became sadder than ever.

“Do not despair,” said his servant who had once been a snake, “but put me
into the room where the child is, for I understand the treatment for snake-
bite.”

As soon as this was done he sucked out all the poison, and the child
recovered.

This so delighted the King that he called the young Rajah and offered him his
daughter in marriage as a reward.

So the marriage took place, and they lived happily ever afterwards.
 THE BARBER AND THE THIEF
A thief entered the house of a barber, and, carefully making bundles of all he
could lay hands upon, was about to take them away when the barber spied
him; and, quickly getting out of bed, sat down at the door, thus cutting off the
way of escape for the thief, who waited in vain for him to move.

The barber sat smoking his hookah,1 and every now and then refreshed
himself by drinking water, occasionally spitting at what looked like a bundle
of rags on the floor; but which was in reality the thief.2 After a while the
barber woke his wife by flinging a little water on her. She woke up very
angry, and scolded him roundly.

“What!” said the barber, “you mind a little water being thrown at you, while
this man”—pointing to the thief—“has no objection to being spat upon!”

Then the thief found he had been discovered, and implored forgiveness.

Thinking he had already suffered sufficient indignities, they forgave him and
let him go.

1 An Indian pipe. ↑
2 To spit upon a man in the East is considered the greatest of indignities. ↑
 THE STORY OF PURAN
There was once a shoemaker who had a vegetable garden in which grew a
bed of brinjals (or egg plant). Unknown to him, a fairy used sometimes to
come and walk there; and one day, while passing the brinjal bushes, a thorn
on them caught one of her wings and broke it, so that she was unable to fly,
and had to remain where she was.

Next time the shoemaker visited his garden he saw a beautiful woman in it;
and, not knowing that she was a fairy, asked her to tell him her name, and
how she came there.

Her only reply was: “I am cold: give me a covering, I pray you.”

Then he invited her to take shelter in his hut, and gave her a lowie, or warm
covering, saying: “Take this and stay as long as you like, and be my
daughter.”

The shoemaker had a kind heart, and was very good to his adopted child,
whom he named “Loonar Chumari.”

Now a Rajah, by name Suliman, sometimes visited the shoemaker’s shop;

and when he saw the fairy he fell in love with her, and begged for her hand in
marriage.

The shoemaker consented, and after a time the marriage took place; but
Suliman had another wife at his Palace, and a son whose name was Puran:
and he was most anxious to find out whether, when he grew up, this son
would make a good ruler, so he sent for a Brahmin and enquired.
“Yes,” declared the Brahmin, “he will be a good ruler, but you must keep him
locked up for twelve years in an underground room.”

This was done, and at the time when Suliman met the fairy, the twelve years
had nearly been completed; but the boy refused to remain even a week
longer, for he was weary of being locked up for so long. Even his own
mother could not influence him in the matter, and so he was released.

Now Puran was a very comely youth, and when he made his obeisance to his
new stepmother, she was greatly impressed with his handsome face, and
thought to herself: “Had I not been in such a hurry I might have married him
instead of Suliman.”

The thought vexed her so much that she made up her mind to get Puran out of
her sight by having him killed. She told Suliman that his boy was wanting in
respect towards her, and deserving of death.

On hearing this, Suliman had a bowl of boiling oil prepared, and, calling his
son, said: “My son, if this be indeed true about you, plunge your hand into
this boiling oil: if you are innocent no harm will come to you.”

Puran, without a sign of fear, did as his father bid him, and plunged in his
hand, taking it out without a mark.

Then Suliman turned to his wife and said: “See, the oil does not burn him.”

But she replied angrily: “Never mind, I am not content, and shall not rest day
or night until you have his eyes put out, and both his hands and his feet cut
off, after which you must have him flung into a pit.”

Suliman, who was completely under the power of the fairy, at last consented
to this, and gave the order; but Puran’s own mother pleaded so earnestly that
her boy’s eyes might be spared, that the servants felt sorry for her; and,
substituting the eyes of an animal, they left the young man’s eyes untouched.

Then Puran was thrown into a pit and there left.

A Guru, or Priest, who lived near that place used to send his followers daily
to bring food and water for him, and one of them, mistaking the dry pit for a
well, let down his chattie for water. Whereupon Puran, whose hands and feet
had been restored by the Almighty, caught hold of the chattie and would not
let it go.

The Guru called out: “Let go, or I will bring my book of incantations and
crush you into dust.”

“Try,” replied a voice from the bottom of the pit, “for I too can bring my
books and crush you to dust.”

The Guru was frightened, and, returning to the head Guru, his master, told
him what had happened.

Then the old Guru said: “It must be Puran; I will go and see.” So, taking with
him a ball of raw cotton, he called out at the top of the pit: “Puran, is that
you? If so, and you are an innocent man, I will let down a thread of raw
cotton, and you will be able to climb up by it, for it will not break if used by
the innocent.”

“Let it down,” replied Puran, and he climbed up safely.

The Guru looked at him as he stood up, and then quietly returned to his own
home.

There he met all his pupils or followers, who are called “Cheelas,” and sent
them out to bring stores. There were one hundred and thirty-five Cheelas, and
before they left he warned them, saying: “Go everywhere except to that
magic country where those women live who practise witchcraft.”

But the men were curious, and, in spite of the warning, went to the witches’
country.

The witches saw them coming, and laughed gleefully. “Let us play a trick on
these young Gurus,” they said, “and turn them all into young bulls.”
This they did, and, leading the creatures to their husbands, said: “See what
fine bulls we have brought in exchange for two and a half pounds of flour.”

The husbands were very pleased, and kept the bulls to carry loads.

Meanwhile the old Guru waited for his followers, but as none of them
appeared, he sought the aid of his books and discovered what had happened.

Then he pronounced his incantations and dried up all the water in the
country, with the exception of one well, near which he sat.

The witches soon found that they would die of thirst, so they came to the old
man’s well, but they barely had time to put down their chatties before he
turned the lot of them into donkeys and let them graze.

Very soon the witches were missed by their husbands, who came to the old
Guru and asked if he could give any news.

“How can I tell,” said he, “when one hundred and thirty-five of my own
Gurus are lost and I cannot find them.”

“But you can recall them, our Father,” said the men.

“That is what I mean to do;” and so saying, the Guru took out his books and
began to read. While he did this, they saw in the distance a herd of one
hundred and thirty-five bulls approaching, and each one carried a load of
wood or hay.

They stood still before the old Guru, who then restored them to their former
shapes.

Then the witches’ husbands were amazed, and said: “O Guru! can you not
call our wives also?”

“Call them yourselves, my friends, as you have seen me call my men.”

But the men knew nothing of either witchcraft or incantations, so they

besought the Guru to help them.
At last he agreed, and asked for a thick, strong stick, which he gave into the
hands of one of his Cheelas, and said: “Go knock each of those donkeys a
blow on the head with this.”

The Cheela did as he was told, and the donkeys resumed the shapes of
women, all but five old ones which the Guru said must remain donkeys by
way of warning.

Then the Guru sent his followers forth as before, and coming to the pit where
Puran had been found, they saw a dry stick standing near it. “This will do for
fire,” said they; but when they touched it a feeble voice was heard.

So they reported the matter to the old Guru, and when he touched the stick it
said, “Guru Jee.” On this he recognised Puran, who for years had waited
beside the well.

“Why did you not go home, my son?”

“Because you did not tell me,” said Puran, “so I waited here for your orders.”

Then the Guru held him tenderly and washed the mud off him, and in many
days he grew strong again.

“Now go home to your parents,” said the Guru.

But Puran said: “No, I will remain with you.”

Thus in time he became a very highly respected Guru.

 TABARISTAN
In the country called Tabaristan there lived a rich Rajah, who gave a feast and
invited a number of guests.

Amongst the guests came a stranger who partook of the good things
distributed. The Rajah, on seeing him, enquired who he was.

“I am a stranger,” said he, “but am willing to serve you, as I have come from
a very distant country.”

The Rajah said he would keep him as a sort of Chowkidar, to guard his house
at night. So all night long the stranger used to pace up and down the Palace
grounds keeping watch.

One night the Rajah came out and, seeing him pacing up and down, asked
him who he was.

“Why, I am he whom you engaged as a servant.”

Hardly had he spoken when a loud cry echoed through the grounds, and a
voice said: “I am going on, I am going on!”

“What is that?” asked the Rajah.

“I do not know,” said the man, “but I hear it every night.”

“Go and find out,” returned the Rajah. So the man turned to do his bidding.

Now the Rajah was very curious, and, quickly wrapping himself in his coat,
quietly followed his servant.

Outside the garden gate sat a figure covered and clothed in loose white
garments.

On approaching it the servant said: “Who are you?”

“I am Time,” replied the figure, “and hold the Rajah’s life, which is now
nearly over.”

“Cannot anything be done to spare it?” asked the man.

“Yes, it can be spared by the sacrifice of another, and that one must be your
son.”

“I will give not only my son’s life, but the lives of all my family and my
own,” replied the man; “but, if you want only my son, you may have him.”

Then he went and told his son, who said: “Gladly will I give my life, for what
is it in comparison with the life of a Rajah? Come, father, take me soon that I
may die.”

Then the man led his son to the veiled figure, and said: “Here is my son; he is
willing to die.”

Taking a knife, he was about to plunge it into his child when the figure cried:
“Enough! You have proved that you were willing not only to give your son,
but your whole family, and the Almighty is pleased to spare the Rajah’s life
for another seven years.”

Now the Rajah, who had heard every word of the interview, quickly returned
to the spot where he had first heard the voice, and there awaited his servant’s
return.

“Well, what was the sound?” asked he, when he saw him.

“A man and a woman had quarrelled,” replied the servant, “but I have
managed to reconcile them, and they have promised not to quarrel for seven
years.”

Then the Rajah left him, and ordered him to appear at his Court the following
day.

Next day, when the Court was full, the Rajah addressed all his people, and
said: “I am resolved to give up my throne and all I possess to this man; for
last night, unknown to me, he was willing to give up, not only his son’s life
but his own, and the lives of all his family, in order to save mine, and for my
sake.”

The poor servant was deeply touched and astonished at the turn matters had
so unexpectedly taken, but the Rajah was firm in his resolve, and left his
throne and his kingdom.

The servant then became Rajah, and ruled wisely and well to the end of his
days.
 THE PAINTED JACKAL
A jackal had the habit of visiting the kitchens of several people at night and
eating whatever it could find.

One day, in visiting the house of a dyer, it put its head into a deep vessel
containing blue dye, and, finding the mixture was not good to eat, tried to get
its head out again, but could not do so for some time. When at last it managed
to escape, its head was dyed a beautiful dark blue colour.

He ran away into the jungles, glad to escape, and unconscious of his strange
appearance; but the other animals in the jungle thought some new animal had
come, and were quite charmed, so that they created him their King.

They divided up all the wild creatures, and put their new King next to the
jackals, so that when they cried out at nights, he cried too, and nobody found
out that he was only a jackal.

But one day some young jackals made him angry, so he turned them out and
ordered the wolves and foxes to remain nearest to him.

That night, when he began to cry and howl, it was at once discovered that he
was only a jackal; so all the animals ran at him, bit him, and turned him out.
 THE ENCHANTED BIRD, MUSIC, AND STREAM
There was once a Prince who used to amuse himself by dressing as a poor
man, and going about amongst his subjects without their finding out who he
was.

In this way he found out all that they did, and how they lived.

Once, while walking through a gully, he saw three sisters, and overheard their
conversation.

One said: “If I could marry even a servant of the Prince, how happy I should
be! I should eat sweets and all sorts of nice things all day long.”

The other sister said: “I’d rather marry his cook, for then I should get still
better things.”

But the third sister said: “I’d like best to marry the Prince himself, for then
I’d get the best things of all to eat.”

The Prince went home, and next day, while holding court, gave an order that
these three sisters should be brought to him.

The order was immediately carried out, and, as the three trembling girls stood
before him, they wondered much why they had been summoned.

“Now,” said he, “tell me what you three were talking about last night?”

Terribly alarmed, the eldest confessed that she had said she would like to be
the wife of one of the servants, so as to get nice things to eat. The second said
she had wished to be the wife of his cook.

The third sister hesitated, and then said timidly that she had dared to say she
would like best to be the wife of the Prince himself.

On this the Prince said: “You may have your wishes.”

He then ordered the one to be married to one of his servants, and the other to
his cook; but the third he married himself.

Some time after this, a son was born; but his wife’s two sisters, who had
begged to be present upon the occasion, and who were very jealous of their
sister’s position, quietly removed the baby, and put a dog’s puppy in its
place. The baby they put into a box and flung into the river.

Now the Prince’s gardener found the box and opened it; and, when he saw
what it contained, he was overjoyed, and took the child to his wife, telling her
that God had at last given her a son which he would keep and bring up as his
own son.

Meantime, the Prince was very angry indeed, but forgave his wife at the
request of her friends.

Some time after this another son was born, which the sisters changed for a
kitten, and, putting the babe into a box, threw it into the river as before; but
again the gardener found the child and carried him to his wife.

Yet a third child was born to the Princess, a little girl, which the two sisters
changed for a rat. As before, they placed the child in a box and threw it into
the river; and yet a third time did the gardener rescue the babe, and take it to
grow up with its two brothers, his adopted boys.

By this time the Prince was very angry with his wife, and turned her out of
his house.

The gardener and his wife, who had loved their adopted children very dearly,
died when the boys were about eight or nine years of age.
So the boys begged the Prince to give them land of their own, on which to
build or cultivate; and he, remembering how fond his gardener had always
been of them, granted their request, so they lived there very happily with their
little sister.

The brothers often went out hunting, and on one occasion, when they were
out and their sister alone at home, a very old woman came to her and begged
for some water. She willingly gave it, and then asked the old woman very
kindly if she would not come in and rest. “Come and see my house,” she said,
“and tell me what you think of it.”

The old woman said: “You have everything very nice, but there are three
things which you have not got.”

“And what are those?”

“You have no bird, no music, and no stream of water,” replied the old
woman; “without these your house is nothing.”

“Where am I to get them?”

“You must go to the West.”

So saying, she went away and left the girl very sad, for she wished for the
three things without which her home was incomplete.

On the return of her brothers, they asked her why she looked so sad; and she
told them of the old woman’s visit, and what she had said.

“If that is all,” cried the eldest brother, “I will go and bring you all three
things.”

The sister at first cried very much, and begged of him not to go, but at last
she consented; and as he bade her good-bye, he gave her a string of beads,
saying: “As long as I am well, these beads will be separate from each other;
but should any misfortune overtake me, or I should die, the beads will be no
longer separate, but will be joined together.”
Then he mounted his horse and rode away.

On the way he met an old Fakir. This old man’s face was covered with hair,
so that he could not see, and he had a very long grey beard.

The boy looked at him, and said: “Let me shave you, and you will be able to
see better.”

So the Fakir allowed himself to be shaved, after which he asked the youth
where he was going, and on hearing, he advised him not to go. “For,” said he,
“many have already gone on that quest, but have never returned.”

Yet the boy persisted. So the old Fakir gave him a ball, and said: “Keep
throwing this before you as you go. Stop where the ball stops, and heed no
sounds or interruptions on the way.”

The ball went in the direction of a high mountain, and the boy followed; but
in the mountain there were strange hissing sounds and voices all around,
which kept shouting to him, and asking who he was and where he came from.

He paid no heed to these, until suddenly there came a great clap of thunder,
followed by an earthquake. This so startled the boy that he looked round, and
in a moment was turned into stone.

The poor little sister at home, discovering that she could no longer separate
her beads, was grieved indeed, knowing that some harm had befallen her
brother; and she wept bitterly.

On this her second brother said he would go and seek him, and also find the
three things she required for her house.

His sister implored him not to leave her, for he was all she had left; but he
was determined, so she was obliged to reluctantly consent to his going.

Before leaving he gave her a flower, and said: “Sister, as long as this flower
keeps fresh, you will know that I am alive and well; but if it should close or
fade, you may feel sure that I too am dead.”
Then he mounted his steed and started on his journey.

Soon he met the old Fakir, who warned him as he had warned his brother,
saying: “My son, so many have gone on this quest and have lost their lives;
your own brother has lost his life, and yet you wish to go. Turn back, I advise
you.”

“No,” said the boy, “I am determined to find my brother, and also the bird,
music, and stream of water.”

Then the Fakir gave him also a ball of string, with the same directions which
he had given his brother; and he continued on his journey.

As he reached the hill, he too heard the same hissing, shouting, and cries to
stop; but he heeded nothing, until at last came the peal of thunder and
earthquake, which so terrified him that he turned round to look, and he too
was turned into stone.

At home his poor sister saw her flower fade away and die, and then she knew
that her other brother had also come to an untimely end.

So she arose and locked her door, and said: “I will go myself and find my
brothers.”

On her way she met the same old Fakir, who accosted her, and asked her
whither she was going.

He was much grieved when she told him her story, and said: “Brave men
have lost their lives, and you, a woman, without half their strength, are going.
I pray you be advised and return.”

“No, no,” she returned; “if men have lost their courage, I, a woman, shall not
lose mine. I am very brave, and I mean to go.”

So the Fakir bade her God-speed very sadly, and gave her the same parting
gift as he had given her brothers, directing her what to do with it.
The first thing she did was to buy some cotton wool, and with it stop her ears,
so that she could not hear a sound; then she proceeded on her journey up the
hill.

The same sounds followed her all the way, but she heard them not, nor did
she hear the thunder or heed the earthquake in her anxiety to find her
brothers.

On and on went she, until she saw a cage hanging on a tree, and in it a bird.
She took it with great joy, and said: “I have found my bird, and have only the
music and water to get for my home to be perfect.”

To her delight, the bird heard, and replied: “If you break off a branch of that
tree and stick it into the ground, the breeze through its leaves will make the
sweetest music you have ever heard; and if you will take a little water from
that enchanted stream yonder, and pour it into your garden, it will never cease
to flow. Thus you will have both music and stream.”

The girl did as the bird advised, and heard the sweetest melody in the branch
of the tree. Then she filled a vessel with water and prepared to return, but
very sorrowfully, for she had found both her brothers turned into stone.

She told her trouble to the bird, who said: “Sprinkle some of the water on the
stones.”

This she did, and, to her great surprise, both the lads came to life.

They were delighted to see her, and to know that she had succeeded in
finding the gifts they had failed to get; and the three returned home and lived
very happily together for some time.

One day the two brothers thought they would like to go out hunting again.

Now they did not know that an order had been passed that nobody was to
hunt in that forest except the Prince, and, while they were there, they came
face to face with the Prince himself. This alarmed them, and they tried to hide
themselves; but he called them, and enquired why they were hunting there
against orders.

Then they explained that they were in ignorance of his orders when they
came, and begged forgiveness.

The Prince, pleased at their appearance, enquired who they were, and they
said: “The adopted sons of your gardener who died some time ago. Our own
parents died when we were young.”

Then the Prince invited them to his Palace, but they said they could go
nowhere without first telling their sister.

“Well, ask your sister,” said he, “and come to-morrow.”

On the third day they met the Prince again, and he asked why they had not
come; but they pleaded as an excuse that they had forgotten to ask their sister.
The Prince then gave them a golden ball and said: “When you see this, you
will remember.”

That night as they were going to bed, the small golden ball rolled out on the
floor, and seeing it, they remembered, and told their sister of the Prince’s
invitation.

She was very displeased with them for not having complied with it earlier;
and told them that they must go and see him the very next day.

On the morrow the two boys went to the Palace, where the Prince received
them very kindly, and gave them all sorts of good things to eat and drink,
saying to himself: “Had I had children, they would by this time be the same
ages as these lads.”

One day, soon after this, the bird advised the sister of the boys to invite the
Prince to dinner.

“How can I entertain so grand a man?” said she.

“Make him a dish of kheer (rice cooked with milk and sugar); and besides
this, to please him, another dish of pearls.”

“But where shall I get the pearls?”

“Send a man to dig beneath that tree, and you will find as many as you
require,” replied the bird.

So the girl did as she was told, and sent a man to dig. He soon found a box
full of pearls, and these she placed in a very beautiful dish, and put it
alongside the plate of kheer.

The Prince accepted the invitation to dinner, and came to the house.

After showing him all round, the girl led him at last to the room in which she
had prepared dinner; and as her bird was also there, she told it to make a
salaam to the Prince, which it did.

Then the first dish was uncovered, and the Prince knew that he could not eat
it as it was made of pearls; but the bird spoke up and said: “O Prince! are you
not yet able to understand the difference between pearls and dross? When
your wife bore your children, you believed them to be dogs, cats, or rats, and
turned out your poor wife, who was in reality the mother of these”—and she
pointed to the two boys and their sister—“your own children, who were
exchanged by their wicked aunts for a dog, a cat, a rat, and you believed
them.”

On hearing this, the Prince was astounded; and then the bird told him exactly
all that had taken place.

Delighted to be once more united to his children, he sought his poor wife,
and, throwing himself at her feet, besought her with tears to forgive him.

This she very gladly did, and returned with him to the Palace, where her
children received her; and they were all very happy ever after.

The two wicked sisters were killed by order of the Prince.

 THE DOG TEMPLE
About eleven miles from Raipur, near the village of Jagasar, is a temple built
to the memory of a faithful dog of the Bunjara species, and this is the story of
how it came to be built.

Many years ago a Bunjara Naik, or headman of the clan of Bunjaras, or

wandering traders, owed money to a “Marwari,” or money-lender at Raipur.

When pressed for payment, the Bunjara, who was then standing near the
Marwari’s shop, said: “Here is my gold necklace, and here is my faithful dog:
keep both till I return to my camping-ground near Jagasar, and fetch you the
money.”

The necklace and dog were then left as security, and the man went his way.

That night the Marwari’s shop was broken into by thieves, and many
valuables stolen, among them the golden necklace; but, before the thieves
could get clear away with their stolen property, the dog got up and barked
and leaped about, and made so much noise that the Marwari and his men got
up, caught the thieves, and recovered the property, which was of considerable
worth.

The Marwari was very pleased, and out of gratitude for what the dog had
done, determined to cancel and forgive the debt of his master, the Bunjara. So
he wrote a paper to cancel it, tied it to the dog’s neck and let it go, saying:
“Carry the tidings to your owner.”

Early next morning the dog trotted off, and was nearing the camping-ground
which was his home, when the Bunjara saw him, and, very displeased, he
took a stick and struck the poor dog across the head, saying: “You brute! you
could not remain even twenty-four hours with the Marwari, though my
honour was at stake.”

The blow killed the dog on the spot, and as he fell, the Bunjara noticed the
slip of paper round his neck, and, on reading it, found what joyful news his
dog had brought to him. Not only was the debt forgiven, but the reason for it
was also stated on the paper.

The grief of the Bunjara was great, for in spite of his hasty temper he loved
his dog, as all Bunjaras do. He repented his hasty act, and wept most bitterly
over his favourite, vowing that he would try and expiate the deed by building
a temple to the faithful dog’s memory with the money he had recovered.

The small temple now standing on the spot where this took place testifies to
the fulfilment of that vow, and a small dog carved in stone indicates why the
Dog Temple was built.

To this day it is deeply revered by all the villagers around, and the story of
that faithful dog is often repeated to show how intelligent and true a dog can
be.
 THE BEAUTIFUL MILKMAID
At a place called Drug, near Raipur in the Central Provinces of India, there
once lived an old woman who had a very beautiful daughter.

The old woman was most unwilling that her daughter should go out into the
streets, for she said: “You are so beautiful, my daughter, that I tremble lest
any one take you from me.”

But the girl replied: “Mother, I must go and earn our daily food. Let me, I
pray you, sell milk and curds as usual: no harm will come to me.”

The mother very reluctantly let her go; but that day a Rajah happened to pass
by and saw her. He noticed how beautiful she was, and stopped his elephant
to ask who she was. She told him that she was of humble origin, and only a
seller of milk and curds.

“Then,” said the Rajah, “I shall buy all that you have.”

“Nay,” replied the girl; “surely what is mine is yours, and I offer everything
in homage to you.”

When she persisted in refusing payment the Rajah was angry, and ordered his
attendants to scatter the curds, and put the girl into prison for daring to go
against his wishes.

The order was obeyed, and the beautiful milkmaid found herself a prisoner.

While in prison she prayed to her Gods for deliverance, and fashioning a
parrot out of clay, breathed life into it and told it to go quickly to her lover, a
young man grazing his herds in the hills, and tell him what had happened.

The bird flew off and did as he was told; and the lover came down that night
with all his clansmen, attacked the Rajah and killed him.

Then he rescued the girl, who lived happily ever after as the wife of her brave
deliverer.
 A REMEDY FOR SNAKE-BITE
There is in India a small state called Raghoghur, the Rajahs of which are said
to possess the power of curing snake-bite, even though it be from the most
deadly cobra or karait. This power has been handed down for centuries, and
was firmly believed in during the year 1896, and even up to the present
moment.

Every man bitten by a deadly snake in that place takes a bit of string, ties
seven knots in it, and places it round his neck. As he goes along towards the
Palace of the Rajah or Raghoghur, he keeps repeating “Jeth Singh,” “Jeth
Singh,” “Jeth Singh,” untying each knot while so doing.

Arrived at the Palace, he salutes the assembled courtiers, and in their

presence undoes the last of the seven knots. This done, the Rajah pours water
on the bite and on the man’s hands. A Brahmin gives his blessing, and he
returns to the village cured.

This power descends from father to son, and many are the wonderful cures
reported from Raghoghur.
 A LEGEND OF SARDANA
In a city called Sardana there once lived a man whose name was Simru. This
man had great riches and lands, and also owned a place of worship.

He married a lady of Sardana, who was called “Begum.”

After a few years of married life Simru died, and his wealthy widow gave
alms and much money to the poor.

In the same city lived an oil dealer who also died, and the angels took him to
Heaven and presented him before the Almighty.

“Who have you brought?” asked the Creator. “This man’s days upon earth
are not yet completed: take him back before his body is buried, and let his
spirit re-possess his body; but in the city of Sardana you will find another
man of the same name: bring him to me.”

On leaving the Court of God, some former creditor of the oil dealer’s, who
had preceded him into the Unseen, recognised him, and laying hold of him,
demanded the sum of five rupees which he had owed him during his lifetime.

The poor man being unable to pay this debt, the angels once more took him
before the Almighty, who asked why they had returned.

The angels replied: “O God, there is a man here to whom this oil dealer owes
five rupees, and he will not let us return until the debt is paid.”

The Almighty enquired if this was true, and the oil dealer replied: “Yes, but I
am a poor man, and not able to repay it.”
Then the Almighty said: “In the city of Sardana lives a rich Begum; do you
know her?”

“Yes, O King.”

“Well, the Begum’s treasury is here, and I will advance you five rupees out
of it, if, when you return to earth, you promise faithfully to give it back to the
Begum.”

So the oil dealer gratefully took the loan, paid his debt, and returned with the
angels to earth, where he arrived just too late to re-enter his body, which his
friends had already taken away to prepare for burial. Watching his
opportunity, he waited till they were otherwise engaged, and at once re-
entered it; but when he sat up, and began to speak, his terrified friends and
relations fled, thinking it was his ghost.

On this the oil dealer called out: “Do not fear, I am not a spirit; but God has
released me, as my days upon earth are not yet fulfilled. The man who ought
to have died is Kungra, the vegetable man; go and see whether he is dead or
alive.”

The friends, on going to the house of Kungra, found that he had just fallen
from a wall and been killed on the spot; all his relations were wailing and
lamenting his sudden end.

Thus everybody knew that the words of the old oil dealer were correct.

In the meantime, the oil dealer called his son, and said: “Son, when I went to
Heaven I there met a man to whom I owed five rupees, and he caught me and
would not let me return before I paid it, so the Almighty advanced me the
money from the Begum’s treasury in Heaven, and bade me give her back that
amount on my return to earth. Therefore do I entreat you, my son, to come
with me, and together we will visit the Begum, and give her five rupees.”

So they took the money and went to the Begum’s house.

“Who are you?” asked she.

The oil dealer then told her the whole story, ending with: “And now I come
to return you the five rupees.”

The Begum was very pleased, and, taking the money, she called her servants
and ordered a further sum of one hundred rupees to be added to it. This
money she spent on sweets, which were distributed amongst the poor.

Many years afterwards the good Begum of Sardana died, but her houses and
lands are still in existence; nor does anybody living in that town forget the
story of the oilman who died and lived again.1

1 The Begum’s property is now in possession of the Jesuits, and the priest who lives there is greatly
beloved of the people. ↑
 THE STORY OF “BUNJARA TULLAO”
There is at a place in India called Agar, a tank or pond known as the “Bunjara
Tullao,” yet no Bunjara will ever drink water there.

Many years ago no pond existed in that spot, and in all the country round a
water famine prevailed, and the poor were perishing for want of water.

A Fakir prophesied that if a man would kill his son and daughter as a
sacrifice to the Gods, water would be found and last always.

That night a Bunjara slew his two children, and threw them into a deep hole.

In the morning when the sun shone and people woke up, lo! there was a large
pond in place of the hole, and nothing was seen of the unfortunate children.
Then the poor filled their chatties, and went away rejoicing.

It is said that sometimes the heads of a boy and girl were seen lifted out of the
water, and that they held out their hands to passers-by; but because the
peasants put mud into them, they discontinued the practice.

In the centre of the “Bunjara Tullao” is a shrine built in memory of its origin.

There is another such pond near the Sipri Bazaar, which remains clear and
beautiful, notwithstanding the fact that hundreds of people bathe and wash in
it.

The old “Guru” who lives there explains the reason for this.

“Many years ago one of the Gods selected the Sipri Bazaar tank for his bath,
and ever since its waters have remained as clear as crystal.”

Moral.—Thus there is a cause for everything in the world.

 THE ANAR PARI, OR POMEGRANATE FAIRY
Once upon a time there was a King who had seven sons, all of whom were
married but the youngest.

One day the Queen-mother spoke to her youngest son, and said: “Why are
you not married? Do not the maidens of my Court please thee? Perhaps you
want what you cannot get, and that is perfection, unless, indeed, you go and
seek and marry the Anar Pari, who is the fairest of all fairies, and whose
charms are traditional.”

The Prince then and there registered a vow that he would not marry at all
unless he found this pearl of great price, and forthwith started on his quest for
her.

He put on his armour and five weapons of defence, mounted his favourite
steed, and set forth.

He had proceeded a good distance when night fell, and he found himself in a
forest near a small hut. Entering it, he found it was occupied by a holy Fakir.

The Fakir said: “My son, why have you come here? Where are you going?
And are you not afraid of the wild animals which infest this forest?”

The Prince replied: “Holy Father, I am going on a long journey to try and
find the Pomegranate Fairy, so that I may wed her.”

“You are going a long way indeed,” replied the Fakir; “but if you listen to
what I tell you, your journey will not be in vain.”
Next morning he called the young man, and told him that he was going to
enchant him and turn him into a parrot, so that he might fly to the island on
which the fairy was imprisoned, and guarded day and night by seven hundred
dreadful dragons. He also told him that on the island he would find a
pomegranate tree with three pomegranates on it, of which he was to pluck
and bring away the middle one, for in it dwelt the fairy he was so anxious to
find.

“But mind you,” said the Fakir, “once you have plucked the pomegranate,
you are not to wait an instant, or even turn to look back when the dragons
come after you, for, if you once look back, all your efforts will be in vain,
and you will be killed.”

Then the young Prince was turned into a parrot and immediately flew off.

He flew and flew and flew, till he had crossed seven seas; and in the midst of
the seventh sea, he at last spied an island in which was a most lovely garden,
where grew an exquisite pomegranate tree, and on it three pomegranates, the
centre one most beautiful to behold.

He plucked the fruit, and flew as fast as he could, but alas, the dragon who
guarded the tree saw him, and called to the other dragons, who, with wild
yells and terrifying noises, flew after him.

The young Prince in his flight unfortunately looked back to see where they
were, and was immediately burnt to a cinder, and fell to the ground with the
golden pomegranate which he had worked so hard to obtain.

The dragons came up and took away the fruit, but left the burnt body of the
bird upon the ground.

The Fakir waited long for the return of the parrot, but as it did not come, he
set out himself to find it. He was able to cross in safety by making his body
invisible, and when he came to the island, the first thing he saw was the burnt
body of the parrot lying in the garden.

So he took it up, breathed once more the breath of life into it, and let it go,
saying: “Try once more, my son, but remember that I said: ‘Look not back,’
but fly to my hut for safety.”

Thus saying, he disappeared; and the parrot, watching its chance, very
silently approached the tree a second time, stole the fruit, and flew as fast as
he could.

The dragons pursued, but he reached the hut in safety; and the old Fakir did
not lose a moment, but turned him into a small fly, and then secreted the
pomegranate on his person, and sat down.

Almost immediately the dragons also arrived, and said: “Where is the green
parrot who stole the fruit?”

“Look and see,” said the old Fakir. “I know not what you want; no green
parrot is here, nor do I know where the pomegranate is that he took away.”

Then he went on quietly counting his beads while the dragons searched
everywhere; but at last, wearied out and finding nothing, they went away,
feeling very angry at the loss of their fairy.

As soon as they had gone, the Fakir caused the Prince to resume his original
form, and, handing him the pomegranate, said: “Go back to your Palace; and
when you have got there, break the pomegranate, and out of it will step the
most beautiful woman you have ever seen; take her to be your wife, and may
luck go with you.”

The young Prince then mounted his steed, and thanked the old Fakir for all
his assistance.

As he neared his father’s Palace he came to a well in a garden, and having

tied his horse to a tree, he went and rested beside the well, and looked at the
pomegranate.

“I think I will break it now, and see if a fairy comes out, for if I wait to do so
in my father’s house before all his courtiers, suppose no fairy appeared, I
should be ashamed to death.”
So saying, he broke it, and immediately a most lovely woman appeared,
bright and dazzling as the sun itself. As soon as he beheld her, he was so
entranced that he fell into a swoon. Then the fairy lifted his head very gently,
and placing it on her knee, allowed him to sleep on.

While he slept a young woman of low caste came to draw water. Seeing the
beautiful fairy, she enquired of her if the sleeping man was the King’s
youngest son, and if she was the Anar Pari whom he had gone to seek.

Hearing that this was so, she was filled with envy, and planned in her mind
how she might take the life of the fairy. So she went up to her, and said: “O
fairy, you are most beautiful, but I would be beautiful too if I had on your
clothes: come, let us exchange our dresses (or sarees), and see how you look
in my clothes.”

The fairy did as she wished, and the young woman said: “Look how beautiful
I am; let us go to the well and behold our reflections in the water to see which
is the most beautiful.”

The fairy bent forward to see herself, and, as she did so, the young woman
pushed her so that she fell into the well and sank into the water.

Having done this, the wicked young woman woke up the Prince, saying:
“Come, let us go to the King’s Palace.”

The Prince looked doubtfully at her, but, being still half asleep, and seeing
that she wore the same dress as Anar Pari had on, he assented, believing his
passing doubt to be unreasonable.

His arrival at the Palace was made an occasion for great rejoicings, and all
were glad that he was at last happily married.

The new Princess would never allow him to leave her, for she feared that he
might return to the well; but one day, unknown to her, he found his way
there, and looking in, saw floating upon the water a most exquisite lotus lily
of pure white, the most perfect flower he had ever seen.
He asked his servants to hook it out for him; but each time they tried to do so,
the flower disappeared beneath the water. At last he tried himself to get it,
and succeeded easily, for the lily floated towards the hook that he let down.

The Prince took the flower home and looked after it with the greatest care;
but when his wife heard where it had come from, she went at night and,
tearing it into several pieces, flung it out of the window.

As the broken fragments of the lotus touched the earth, they turned into a bed
of mint which grew luxuriantly.

Some of this mint was earned into the King’s kitchen, to be used for
seasoning dishes; but as the cook began to fry it, a voice was heard from the
frying pan, saying: “Here am I, the real Princess, being fried to death, while
the wicked woman who threw me into the well has taken my place.”

The cook when he heard this was afraid, and threw the mint into the garden
again. As soon as it touched the ground it became a lovely creeper, which
grew and grew until it gradually approached the bed-chamber of the Prince.

The false Princess when she saw it at once remembered how she had thrown
the fragments of the lotus lily into the garden, and, fearing lest this might be
an offshoot from it, she ordered her gardener to uproot the creeper and cut it
down at once.

The gardener did so, but as he was removing it, the one and only fruit on the
tree fell to the ground and rolled under a jessamine bush, where it remained
in security.

The gardener’s daughter, who came every morning to gather flowers from
this bush to weave into garlands, accidentally noticed the fruit lying beneath
it, picked it up, and carried it home.

As she entered the gardener’s little hut, the fruit fell to the ground and broke
open, and out of it stepped the lovely Anar Pari.

The good people of the house were filled with wonder and admiration to see
so peerless a being in their humble cottage. They gave her shelter and fed her,
the gardener’s daughter loving her as a sister, and the gardener as a father.

One day, as the gardener’s daughter sat weaving her garlands of jessamine
for the King’s Court, the fairy said: “Please allow me to make one too; and
when it is ready, take it and put it on the neck of the youngest Prince.”

So she made it; and when two garlands were completed they were taken to
the Prince and Princess. The Princess noticed that the Prince’s garland was
made in wonderful fashion, and enquired who had made it. They told her that
a very lovely woman living in the gardener’s hut had made it, and, suspecting
at once that this was Anar Pari come to life again, she thought of some plan
by which she could destroy her.

The next day she feigned great illness and a very severe headache, which she
declared nothing would cure but the placing of a heart of a young and
beautiful girl on her forehead. She therefore begged for the heart of the girl
who lived in the gardener’s hut, and orders were given for her execution.

The gardener and his daughter wept most bitterly, and the executioners were
feign to spare the life of so lovely a woman; yet they were obliged to fulfil
their orders, so they led the girl to the place of execution.

Before they killed her she begged that her limbs might be scattered to the
four winds, and her two eyes thrown upwards into space.

The executioners did as she desired, and her heart was sent to the wicked
Princess.

As soon as Anar Pari’s eyes were thrown into the air, they became a pair of
love-birds and flew into the forest.

Many days after, the Prince went to hunt in the forest, and was resting
himself under the trees when he heard two love-birds talking in the branches,
and one was telling the other the story of her life. How she was once Anar
Pari, a beautiful fairy, and how a wicked woman had enticed her away from
the side of the Prince while he slept, and thrown her down a well, and how
the woman was now reigning in her stead as Princess at the Palace.

The young Prince was amazed to hear all this, and looking up, cried: “I have
at last found you. Come down and be my Fairy Princess once again.”

Then two laughing, loving eyes appeared, and presently they were set in the
form of a woman, and the Prince once again beheld the world-renowned form
of Anar Pari.

They went together to the Palace, and there the Prince ordered the false
Princess to be brought out, and told everybody present the story of her
wickedness.

The sentence passed upon her was that she was to be buried alive near the
well; this was done, and to this day nobody dare go near it. Then the Prince
married the fairy, and they lived happily ever afterwards; but the old gardener
and his daughter were not forgotten, and very often the beautiful Princess sat
with her friends, and the two girls weaved garlands together, and spoke
lovingly of the time when Anar Pari had dwelt in the old hut in the garden.
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9 AND 11 YOUNG STREET
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Metadata

Simla Village Tales Or, Folk Tales

Title:
from the Himalayas
Author: Alice Elizabeth Dracott Info
Language: English
Original
1906
publication date:
Keywords: Folklore
Folklore -- India
India
Library of
07028453
Congress:
OCLC/WorldCat: 63856343
Open Library
OL24179545M
(Book):
Open Library
(Work): OL8546208W

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Table of Contents
PREFACE
CONTENTS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE CAUSE OF A LAWSUIT BETWEEN THE OWL AND THE
KITE
A MONKEY OBJECTS TO CRITICISM
THE DEAD MAN’S RING
THE ORIGIN OF DEATH
THE REAL MOTHER
THE PRINCESS SOORTHE
THE SNAKE’S BRIDE
THE POWER OF FATE
THE OLD WITCH WHO LIVED IN A FOREST
KULLOO, A FAITHFUL DOG
THE STORY OF GHOSE
THE VIZIER’S SON AND THE RAJAH’S SON
THE RAJAH’S SON AND THE VIZIER’S SON
BEY HUSLO
THE STORY OF PANCH MAR KHAN
THE RABBIT AND THE BARBER
RUPA AND BISUNTHA
SHEIK CHILLI
SHEIK CHILLI
THE MONKEY, THE TIGER, AND THE PRINCESS
THE JACKAL AND THE GUANA
THE STORY OF THE BLACK COW
THE BRAHMIN AND THE WILD GEESE
THE FOUR-GIFTED PRINCESS
THE MAN WHO WENT TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE
THREE WISE MEN AND THE KING’S DAUGHTER
BARBIL’S SON
THE TIGER AND THE RATS
THE ADVENTURES OF A BIRD
THE LEGEND OF NALDERA TEMPLE
THE BUNNIAH’S WIFE AND THE THIEF
WHO STOLE THE RUBY?
THE STORY OF VICKRAMADIT
THE WEAVER
THE DOG WHO WAS A RAJAH
THE FOURTH WIFE IS THE WISEST
THE STORY OF PIR SAB
THE ORIGIN OF A RIVER
THE GOLDEN SCORPIONS
THE STORY OF A PEARL
THE BUNNIAH’S GHOST
BICKERMANJI THE INQUISITIVE
THE BRAHMIN’S DAUGHTER
ABUL HUSSAIN
THE MAGICIAN AND THE MERCHANT
THE SNAKE AND THE FROG
THE BARBER AND THE THIEF
THE STORY OF PURAN
TABARISTAN
THE PAINTED JACKAL
THE ENCHANTED BIRD, MUSIC, AND STREAM
THE DOG TEMPLE
THE BEAUTIFUL MILKMAID
A REMEDY FOR SNAKE-BITE
A LEGEND OF SARDANA
THE STORY OF “BUNJARA TULLAO”
THE ANAR PARI, OR POMEGRANATE FAIRY
Colophon
Availability
Metadata
Revision History
External References
Corrections
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