Tales of India Page 13

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Mother,” said she kindly, “why do you weep?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “I have had enough!—let us go down,” said the King’s sister after a time.

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

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

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

  So everybody was pleased, and lived happily ever after.

  THE BEGGAR and the FIVE MUFFINS

  Tamil Nadu

  In a certain village there lived a poor beggar and his wife. The man used to go out every morning with a clean vessel in his hand, return home with rice enough for the day’s meal, and thus the pair lived on in extreme poverty.

  One day a poor Mâdhva Brâhmaṇ invited them to a feast, and, among Mâdhvas muffins (tôśai) are always a part of the good things on festive occasions. So during the feast the beggar and his wife had their fill of muffins. They were so pleased with them that the woman was extremely anxious to prepare some more muffins in her own house, and began to save every day a little rice from what her husband brought her for the purpose. When enough had been thus collected she begged a poor neighbour’s wife to give her a little black pulse, which the latter—praised be her charity—readily did. The faces of the beggar and his wife literally glowed with joy that day, for were they not to taste the long-desired muffins a second time?

  The woman soon turned the rice she had been saving and the black pulse she had obtained from her neighbour into a paste, and mixing it well with a little salt, green chillies, coriander seed and curds, set it in a pan on the fire; and with her mouth watering all the while prepared five muffins! By the time her husband had returned from his collection of alms, she was just turning out of the pan the fifth muffin! And when she placed the whole five muffins before him his mouth, too, began to water. He kept two for himself and two he placed before his wife, but what was to be done with the fifth? He did not understand the way out of this difficulty. That half and half make one and that each could take two and a half muffins was a question too hard for him to solve. The beloved muffins must not be torn in pieces; so he said to his wife that either he or she must take the remaining one. But how were they to decide which should be the lucky one?

  Proposed the husband:—“Let us both shut our eyes and stretch ourselves as if in sleep each on a verandah on either side the kitchen. Whoever opens an eye and speaks first gets only two muffins, and the other gets three.”

  So great was the desire of each to get the three muffins that they both abided by the agreement, and the woman, though her mouth watered for the muffins, resolved to go through the ordeal. She placed the five cakes in a pan and covered it over with another pan. She then carefully bolted the door inside, and asking her husband to go into the east verandah, lay down in the west one. Sleep she had none, and with closed eyes kept guard over her husband: for if he spoke first he would have only two muffins and the other three would come to her share. Equally watchful was her husband over her.

  Thus passed one whole day—two—three! The house was never opened! No beggar came to receive the morning dole. The whole village began to enquire after the missing beggar. What had become of him? What had become of his wife? “See whether his house is locked on the outside and whether he has left us to go to some other village,” spoke the greyheads. So the village watch came and tried to push the door open, but it would not open! “Surely,” said they, “it is locked on the inside! Some great calamity must have happened. Perhaps thieves have entered the house and after plundering their property murdered the inmates.”

  “But what property is a beggar likely to have?” thought the village assembly, and not liking to waste time in idle speculations, they sent two watchmen to climb the roof and open the latch from the inside. Meanwhile the whole village—men, women and children—stood before the beggar’s house to see what had taken place inside. The watchmen jumped into the house, and to their horror found the beggar and his wife stretched on opposite verandahs like two corpses. They opened the door, and the whole village rushed in. They, too, saw the beggar and his wife lying so still that they thought them to be dead. And though the beggar pair had heard everything that passed around them, neither would open an eye or speak. For whoever did it first would get only two muffins!

  At the public expense of the village two green litters of bamboo and cocoanut leaves were prepared on which to remove the unfortunate pair to the cremation-ground. “How loving they must have been to have died together like this!” said some of the greybeards of the village.

  In time the cremation-ground was reached, and the village watchmen had collected a score of dried cowdung-cakes and a bundle of fire-wood from each house for the funeral pyre.1 From these charitable contributions two pyres had been prepared, one for the man and one for the woman. The pyres were then lighted, and when the fire approached his leg, the man thought it time to give up the ordeal and to be satisfied with only two muffins! So while the villagers were still continuing the funeral rites, they suddenly heard a voice:—

  “I shall be satisfied with two muffins!”

  Immediately another voice replied from the woman’s pyre:—

  “I have gained the day; let me have the three!”

  The villagers were amazed and ran away. One bold man alone stood face to face with the supposed dead husband and wife. He was a bold man, indeed, for when a dead man or a man supposed to have died comes to life village people consider him to be a ghost. However, this bold villager questioned the beggars until he came to know their story. He then went after the runaways and related to them the whole story of the five muffins to their great amazement.

  But what was to be done to the people who had thus voluntarily faced death out of a love for muffins? Persons who had ascended the green litter and slept on the funeral pyre could never come back to the village! If they did the whole village would perish. So the elders built a small hut in a deserted meadow outside the village and made the beggar and his wife live there.

  Ever after that memorable day our hero and his wife were called the m
uffin beggar and the muffin beggar’s wife, and many old ladies and young children from the village used to bring them muffins in the morning and evening, out of pity for them—for had they not loved muffins so much that they underwent death in life?

  1. The village custom in South India when a death occurs in the village.

  A NOTE ON THE SOURCES

  The stories in this book were collected, translated, and published in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The folklorists included both Indian and British citizens, who drew on interviews with village storytellers and, in the case of Paṇḍit S. M. Naṭêśa Sâstrî, on his own childhood memories as sources for the stories. Although many of these tales appear in multiple variations across India, the particular versions included here were told in the three regions that are now Bengal, Punjab, and Tamil Nadu. These stories were excerpted from the following publications, all of which are in the public domain:

  Day, Lal Behari, Folk-Tales of Bengal. London: Macmillan and Co., 1883, Internet Archive, 2008. https://archive.org/details/folktalesbengal00daygoog

  Naṭêśa Sâstrî, S. M., Folkore in Southern India. Bombay: Education Society’s Press, 1884-88, Internet Archive, 2009. https://archive.org/details/cu31924024159661

  Steel, Flora Annie, Tales of the Punjab: Told by the People. Notes by R. C. Temple. London: Macmillan and Co., 1917, Internet Archive, 2007. https://archive.org/details/talesofpunjabtol00stee

  Swynnerton, Charles, Indian Nights’ Entertainment; or, Folk-Tales from the Upper Indus. London: Elliot Stock, 1892, Internet Archive, 2009. https://archive.org/details/cu31924023651072

  SOURCES