Tales of India Page 6
“‘Good heavens!’ cried the king, looking round in consternation. ‘Who are you? Tell me this instant!’
“‘Sire,’ answered the robber, ‘be not alarmed—I am the robber.’
“‘And where is my sentry’ asked the perplexed monarch.
“‘I have just thrown his lifeless body into the river,’ said the robber.
“The king was greatly alarmed. ‘And yet,’ thought he, ‘this scoundrel might also have cut me down and disposed of me in the same way, and he didn’t! He must be a good sort of fellow.’ This consideration relieved the king’s mind. ‘Come near to me,’ then said he aloud.
“‘But,’ replied the robber, ‘I was telling your majesty the story of a thief. This person, you must know, now standing behind you, is the very thief in question, and the jeweller is innocent of any crime.’ Saying these words, he led the thief forward by the ear.
“Morning now dawning, some attendants appeared, the thief was seized, and in due time the jeweller was released out of prison. Then the king, sitting on his judgment seat, gave orders that the pearls should be divided equally between the robber and the jeweller, and that the thief should be blown away from a gun. After this the robber joyfully returned home to his wife and took possession of his house.
“And now,” continued the rat, “all I have to add is that the father of wisdom who rewards robbers with the property of other people is also the father of this charming lady.”
Hearing these words, the princess became more angry than ever, and cried: “O lying spirit, when morning comes I will burn you too!”
Then sounded the drum for the third and last time, and the people of the city heard it, and, turning in their beds, said to their children: “To-morrow the princess will be married.”
“Salaam Alaikim!” said the blacksmith’s daughter.
“Alaikim salaam!” answered the rat, after which the two friends parted, the rat going his own way, while his benefactress closed her eyes and slept.
The next morning the whole city was astir, eager for news of the princess’s wedding, and by common consent there was universal holiday. The blacksmith’s daughter rose betimes, and, dressing herself with the utmost care, she went out to the stables, and there she saw her husband, Prince Ghool, in the costume of a groom, rubbing down a horse with curry-comb and brush. She gazed at him very tenderly for a moment, while a tear came into her eye, but she hastily recovered herself, and returned to the palace. The whole day was devoted to feastings, games, and rejoicings; and by-and-by the priest came, and in the midst of the assembled dignitaries of the court the blacksmith’s daughter and the princess were united in marriage according to the forms in vogue among Mahommedans. When the ceremony was over the sham bridegroom addressed her bride and said: “I have fairly won you in spite of every difficulty, and now it is my will that for six months you are not to enter my chamber.”
The wisdom of the pretended prince was so great that her father-in-law paid her the greatest possible respect and consulted her in all affairs of state, and her manners and speech were so charming that she won all hearts. One of her earliest acts of grace was to petition the king to release all the unfortunate princes who were engaged in menial attendance on her wife’s horses, and to permit them to return to their homes. Her request was granted; but as she herself bore the order, she was careful while dismissing all the rest to except her own husband, and on him she laid her commands to bring to her his horse every morning saddled and bridled, and to attend her on her expeditions. Prince Ghool, noticing all his companions restored to their liberty, could scarcely on this occasions forbear crying with vexation and disappointment as he said to himself: “I alone am left in slavery!”
After many days the blacksmith’s daughter went to the king, and said: “O king, a favour! Give me leave to visit my own country and my own kindred.” Her prayer was granted, and she was provided with an escort of horsemen, and with every comfort for the journey both for herself and for the princess. Then she ordered Prince Ghool never to leave her horse’s side, and over him she set guards lest he should attempt to escape.
After several marches had been accomplished the prince said to himself: “I perceive that we are going to my own country. Alas! what would the blacksmith’s daughter say if she saw me in such a plight as this?”
When the cavalcade came within two or three marches of the capital, and had halted for the night, the blacksmith’s daughter sent for her husband, and said to him: “I have now urgent business on hand, the nature of which I cannot communicate. It is enough that I require a disguise. Do you give me your groom’s clothing, and, accepting some of mine in its place, represent me in my absence. Halt here for a month. In a short time I shall see you again.”
The prince, wondering at her request, obeyed, and assumed the dress of his supposed master. But she, having received his groom’s clothing from a trusty attendant, together with his curry-comb and brush, locked them all up in a box, and, taking them with her, stole off in the darkness to her father’s house.
A day or two having elapsed, and the blacksmith’s daughter not returning, Prince Ghool said: “This prince bade me to remain here for a month with the princess and her retinue. My father is a powerful king, and his capital is near. Why should I not carry off the princess to my own home and swear that I won her?” So that night he gave order accordingly, and on the third day he arrived at his father’s palace. He entered in triumph, and proclamation was made everywhere that Prince Ghool had returned, and that he had won the famous dumb princess; and when the people saw him riding through the street by the side of his father, who had gone forth with troops to escort him in, every house resounded with acclamations.
The next day Prince Ghool sent a message to the house of the blacksmith, and ordered him to send his daughter to the palace. As soon as she appeared, he said to her: “Oh, you taunted me about this princess, did you? Now what have you to say? Have I not won her?”
“Did you win her,” quietly answered she, “or did I?”
“I did,” protested he.
“Nay, I did,” replied the girl.
She then stamped her little foot, and a servant brought in a box. When the company had been ordered to retire she unlocked the box, and took from it the old curry-comb, the brush, and the old suit of groom’s clothes. Holding them up before the prince, she asked: “Whose are these—yours or mine?”
The prince was confounded, and for a moment he could not speak. He then stammered: “They are mine!”
“Did you, then, win the princess,” demanded she, “or did I?”
“You did,” answered he.
“Ah,” said the blacksmith’s daughter, “if you with your father’s ministers were not able even to tell the secret of the earthen jars, how could you possibly have won the dumb princess? But now take her, and marry her, and let us all be happy at last.”
THE GHOST-BRAHMAN
Bengal
Once on a time there lived a poor Brahman, who not being a Kulin, found it the hardest thing in the world to get married. He went to rich people and begged of them to give him money that he might marry a wife. And a large sum of money was needed, not so much for the expenses of the wedding, as for giving to the parents of the bride. He begged from door to door, flattered many rich folk, and at last succeeded in scraping together the sum needed. The wedding took place in due time; and he brought home his wife to his mother. After a short time he said to his mother—“Mother, I have no means to support you and my wife; I must therefore go to distant countries to get money somehow or other. I may be away for years, for I won’t return till I get a good sum. In the meantime I’ll give you what I have; you make the best of it, and take care of my wife.” The Brahman receiving his mother’s blessing set out on his travels. In the evening of that very day, a ghost assuming the exact appearance of the Brahman came into the house. The newly married woman, thinking it was her husband, said to him—“How is it that you have returned so soon? You said you migh
t be away for years; why have you changed your mind?” The ghost said—“To-day is not a lucky day, I have therefore returned home; besides, I have already got some money.” The mother did not doubt but that it was her son. So the ghost lived in the house as if he was its owner, and as if he was the son of the old woman and the husband of the young woman. As the ghost and the Brahman were exactly like each other in every thing, like two peas, the people in the neighbourhood all thought that the ghost was the real Brahman. After some years the Brahman returned from his travels; and what was his surprise when he found another like him in the house. The ghost said to the Brahman—“Who are you? what business have you to come to my house?” “Who am I?” replied the Brahman, “let me ask who you are. This is my house; that is my mother, and this is my wife.” The ghost said—“Why herein is a strange thing. Every one knows that this is my house, that is my wife, and yonder is my mother; and I have lived here for years. And you pretend this is your house, and that woman is your wife. Your head must have got turned, Brahman.” So saying the ghost drove away the Brahman from his house. The Brahman became mute with wonder. He did not know what to do. At last he bethought himself of going to the king and of laying his case before him. The king saw the ghost-Brahman as well as the Brahman, and the one was the picture of the other; so he was in a fix, and did not know how to decide the quarrel. Day after day the Brahman went to the king and besought him to give him back his house, his wife, and his mother; and the king, not knowing what to say every time, put him off to the following day. Every day the king tells him to—“Come to-morrow;” and every day the Brahman goes away from the palace weeping and striking his forehead with the palm of his hand, and saying—“What a wicked world this is! I am driven from my own house, and another fellow has taken possession of my house and of my wife! And what a king this is! He does not do justice.”
Now, it came to pass that as the Brahman went away every day from the court outside the town, he passed a spot at which a great many cow-boys used to play. They let the cows graze on the meadow, while they themselves met together under a large tree to play. And they played at royalty. One cow-boy was elected king; another, prime minister or vizier; another, kotwal, or prefect of the police; and others, constables. Every day for several days together they saw the Brahman passing by weeping. One day the cow-boy king asked his vizier whether he knew why the Brahman wept every day. On the vizier not being able to answer the question, the cowboy-king ordered one of his constables to bring the Brahman to him. One of them went and said to the Brahman—“The king requires your immediate attendance.” The Brahman replied—“What for? I have just come from the king, and he put me off till to-morrow. Why does he want me again?” “It is our king that wants you—our neat-herd king,” rejoined the constable. “Who is neat-herd king?” asked the Brahman. “Come and see,” was the reply. The neat-herd king then asked the Brahman why he every day went away weeping. The Brahman then told him his sad story. The neat-herd king, after hearing the whole, said, “I understand your case; I will give you again all your rights. Only go to the king and ask his permission for me to decide your case.” The Brahman went back to the king of the country, and begged his Majesty to send his case to the neat-herd king, who had offered to decide it. The king, whom the case had greatly puzzled, granted the permission sought. The following morning was fixed for the trial. The neat-herd king, who saw through the whole, brought with him next day a phial with a narrow neck. The Brahman and the ghost-Brahman both appeared at the bar. After a great deal of examination of witnesses and of speech-making, the neat-herd king said—“Well, I have heard enough. I’ll decide the case at once. Here is this phial. Whichever of you will enter into it shall be declared by the court to be the rightful owner of the house the title of which is in dispute. Now, let me see, which of you will enter.” The Brahman said—“You are a neat-herd, and your intellect is that of a neat-herd. What man can enter into such a small phial?” “If you cannot enter,” said the neat-herd king, “then you are not the rightful owner. What do you say, sir, to this?” turning to the ghost-Brahman and addressing him. “If you can enter into the phial, then the house and the wife and the mother become yours.” “Of course I will enter,” said the ghost. And true to his word, to the wonder of all, he made himself into a small creature like an insect, and entered into the phial. The neat-herd king forthwith corked up the phial, and the ghost could not get out. Then, addressing the Brahman, the neat-herd king said, “Throw this phial into the bottom of the sea, and take possession of your house, wife, and mother.” The Brahman did so, and lived happily for many years and begat sons and daughters.
Thus my story endeth,
The Natiya-thorn withereth;
“Why, O Natiya-thorn, dost wither?”
“Why does thy cow on me browse?”
“Why, O cow, dost thou browse?”
“Why does thy neat-herd not tend me?”
“Why, O neat-herd, dost not tend the cow?”
“Why does thy daughter-in-law not give me rice?”
“Why, O daughter-in-law, dost not give rice?”
“Why does my child cry?”
“Why, O child, dost thou cry?”
“Why does the ant bite me?”
“Why, O ant, dost thou bite?”
Koot! koot! koot!†
† According to the author of this story, orthodox Bengali storytellers used to repeat these lines at the end of every tale.
BOPOLÛCHÎ
Punjab
Once upon a time a number of young girls went to draw water at the village well, and whilst they were filling their jars, fell a-talking of their betrothals and weddings.
Said one—“My uncle will soon be coming with the bridal presents, and he is to bring the finest clothes imaginable.”
Said a second—“And my uncle-in-law is coming, I know, bringing the most delicious sweetmeats you could think of.”
Said a third—“Oh, my uncle will be here in no time, with the rarest jewels in the world.”
But Bopolûchî, the prettiest girl of them all, looked sad, for she was an orphan, and had no one to arrange a marriage for her. Nevertheless she was too proud to remain silent, so she said gaily—“And my uncle is coming also, bringing me fine dresses, fine food, and fine jewels.”
Now a wandering pedlar, who sold sweet scents and cosmetics of all sorts to the country women, happened to be sitting near the well, and heard what Bopolûchî said. Being much struck by her beauty and spirit, he determined to marry her himself, and the very next day, disguised as a well-to-do farmer, he came to Bopolûchî’s house laden with trays upon trays full of fine dresses, fine food, and fine jewels; for he was not a real pedlar, but a wicked robber, ever so rich.
Bopolûchî could hardly believe her eyes, for everything was just as she had foretold, and the robber said he was her father’s brother, who had been away in the world for years, and had now come back to arrange her marriage with one of his sons, her cousin.
Hearing this, Bopolûchî of course believed it all, and was ever so much pleased; so she packed up the few things she possessed in a bundle, and set off with the robber in high spirits.
But as they went along the road, a crow sitting on a branch croaked—
“Bopolûchî, ’tis a pity!
You have lost your wits, my pretty!
’Tis no uncle that relieves you,
But a robber who deceives you!”
“Uncle!” said Bopolûchî, “that crow croaks funnily. What does it say?”
“Pooh!” returned the robber, “all the crows in this country croak like that.”
A little further on they met a peacock, which, as soon as it caught sight of the pretty little maiden, began to scream—
“Bopolûchî, ’tis a pity!
You have lost your wits, my pretty!
’Tis no uncle that relieves you,
But a robber who deceives you!”
“Uncle!” said the girl, “that peacock screams funnily. Wha
t does it say?”
“Pooh!” returned the robber, “all peacocks scream like that in this country.”
By and by a jackal slunk across the road; the moment it saw poor pretty Bopolûchî it began to howl—
“Bopolûchî, ’tis a pity!
You have lost your wits, my pretty!
’Tis no uncle that relieves you,
But a robber who deceives you!”
“Uncle!” said the maiden, “that jackal howls funnily. What does it say?”
“Pooh!” returned the robber, “all jackals howl like that in this country.”
So poor pretty Bopolûchî journeyed on till they reached the robber’s house. Then he told her who he was, and how he intended to marry her himself. She wept and cried bitterly, but the robber had no pity, and left her in charge of his old, oh! ever so old mother, while he went out to make arrangements for the marriage feast.
Now Bopolûchî had such beautiful hair that it reached right down to her ankles, but the old mother hadn’t a hair on her old bald head.
“Daughter!” said the old, ever so old mother, as she was putting the bridal dress on Bopolûchî, “how ever did you manage to get such beautiful hair?”
“Well,” replied Bopolûchî, “my mother made it grow by pounding my head in the big mortar for husking rice. At every stroke of the pestle my hair grew longer and longer. I assure you it is a plan that never fails.”
“Perhaps it would make my hair grow!” said the old woman eagerly.
“Perhaps it would!” quoth cunning Bopolûchî.
So the old, ever so old mother put her head in the mortar, and Bopolûchî pounded away with such a will that the old lady died.
Then Bopolûchî dressed the dead body in the scarlet bridal dress, seated it on the low bridal chair, drew the veil well over the face, and put the spinning-wheel in front of it, so that when the robber came home he might think it was the bride. Then she put on the old mother’s clothes, and seizing her own bundle, stepped out of the house as quickly as possible.