"Sahasra Dal watcheth,
Champa Dal watcheth,
Two winged horses watch."
The Rakshasi again groaned and went away. At two o'clock and at three
o'clock the Rakshasi again and again made her appearance, and made
the usual inquiry, and obtaining the same answer, went away with a
groan. After three o'clock, however, Sahasra Dal felt very sleepy:
he could not any longer keep awake. He therefore roused Champa,
told him to watch, and strictly enjoined upon him, in reply to the
query of the Rakshasi, to mention Sahasra's name first. With these
instructions he went to sleep. At four o'clock the Rakshasi again
made her appearance, thundered at the door, and said--
"How, mow, khow!
A human being I smell;
Who watches inside?"
As Champa Dal was in a terrible fright, he forgot the instructions
of his brother for the moment, and answered--
"Champa Dal watcheth,
Sahasra Dal watcheth,
Two winged horses watch."
On hearing this reply the Rakshasi uttered a shout of exultation,
laughed such a laugh as only demons can, and with a dreadful noise
broke open the door. The noise roused Sahasra, who in a moment
sprung to his feet, and with his sword, which was as supple as a
palm-leaf, cut off the head of the Rakshasi. The huge mountain of a
body fell to the ground, making a great noise, and lay covering many
an acre. Sahasra Dal kept the severed head of the Rakshasi near him,
and went to sleep. Early in the morning some wood-cutters, who were
passing near the temple, saw the huge body on the ground. They could
not from a distance make out what it was, but on coming near they
knew that it was the carcase of the terrible Rakshasi, who had by
her voracity nearly depopulated the country. Remembering the promise
made by the king that the killer of the Rakshasi should be rewarded
by the hand of his daughter and with a share of the kingdom, each of
the wood-cutters, seeing no claimant at hand, thought of obtaining
the reward. Accordingly each of them cut off a part of a limb of the
huge carcase, went to the king, and represented himself to be the
destroyer of the great raw-eater, and claimed the reward. The king,
in order to find out the real hero and deliverer, inquired of his
minister the name of the family whose turn it was on the preceding
night to offer a victim to the Rakshasi. The head of that family, on
being brought before the king, related how two youthful travellers,
who were guests in his house, volunteered to go into the temple
in the room of a member of his family. The door of the temple was
broken open; Sahasra Dal and Champa Dal and their horses were found
all safe; and the head of the Rakshasi, which was with them, proved
beyond the shadow of a doubt that they had killed the monster. The
king kept his word. He gave his daughter in marriage to Sahasra Dal
and the sovereignty of half his dominions. Champa Dal remained with
his friend in the king's palace, and rejoiced in his prosperity.
Sahasra Dal and Champa Dal lived together happily for some time, when
a misunderstanding arose between them in this wise. There was in the
service of the queen-mother a certain maid-servant who was the most
useful domestic in the palace. There was nothing which she could not
put her hands to and perform. She had uncommon strength for a woman;
neither was her intelligence of a mean order. She was a woman of
immense activity and energy; and if she were absent one day from the
palace, the affairs of the zenana would be in perfect disorder. Hence
her services were highly valued by the queen-mother and all the ladies
of the palace. But this woman was not a woman; she was a Rakshasi, who
had put on the appearance of a woman to serve some purposes of her own,
and then taken service in the royal household. At night, when every
one in the palace was asleep, she used to assume her own real form, and
go about in quest of food, for the quantity of food that is sufficient
for either man or woman was not sufficient for a Rakshasi. Now Champa
Dal, having no wife, was in the habit of sleeping outside the zenana,
and not far from the outer gate of the palace. He had noticed her going
about on the premises and devouring sundry goats and sheep, horses and
elephants. The maid-servant, finding that Champa Dal was in the way of
her supper, determined to get rid of him. She accordingly went one day
to the queen-mother, and said, "Queen-mother! I am unable any longer
to work in the palace." "Why? what is the matter, Dasi? [11] How can
I get on without you? Tell me your reasons. What ails you?" "Why,"
said the woman, "nowadays it is impossible for a poor woman like
me to preserve my honour in the palace. There is that Champa Dal,
the friend of your son-in-law; he always cracks indecent jokes with
me. It is better for me to beg for my rice than to lose my honour. If
Champa Dal remains in the palace I must go away." As the maid-servant
was an absolute necessity in the palace, the queen-mother resolved
to sacrifice Champa Dal to her. She therefore told Sahasra Dal that
Champa Dal was a bad man, that his character was loose, and that
therefore he must leave the palace. Sahasra Dal earnestly pleaded on
behalf of his friend, but in vain; the queen-mother had made up her
mind to drive him out of the palace. Sahasra Dal had not the courage
to speak personally to his friend on the subject; he therefore wrote
a letter to him, in which he simply said that for certain reasons
Champa must leave the palace immediately. The letter was put in his
room after he had gone to bathe. On reading the letter Champa Dal,
exceedingly grieved, mounted his fleet horse and left the palace.
As Champa's horse was uncommonly fleet, in a few hours he traversed
thousands of miles, and at last found himself at the gateway of what
seemed a magnificent palace. Dismounting from his horse, he entered
the house, where he did not meet with a single creature. He went from
apartment to apartment, but though they were all richly furnished he
did not see a single human being. At last, in one of the side rooms,
he found a young lady of heavenly beauty lying down on a splendid
bedstead. She was asleep. Champa Dal looked upon the sleeping beauty
with rapture--he had not seen any woman so beautiful. Upon the bed,
near the head of the young lady, were two sticks, one of silver and the
other of gold. Champa took the silver stick into his hand, and touched
with it the body of the lady; but no change was perceptible. He then
took up the gold stick and laid it upon the lady, when in a trice
she woke up, sat in her bed, and eyeing the stranger, inquired who
he was. Champa Dal briefly told his story. The young lady, or rather
princess--for she was nothing less--said, "Unhappy man! why have you
come here? This is the country of Rakshasas, and in this house and
round about there live no less than seven hundred Rakshasas. They
all go away to the other side of the ocean every morning in search of
provisions; and they all return every evening before dusk. My father
was formerly king in these regions, and had millions of subjects, who
lived in flourishing towns and cities. But some years ago the invasion
of the Rakshasas took place, and they devoured all his subjects,
and himself and my mother, and my brothers and sisters. They devoured
also all the cattle of the country. There is no living human being in
these regions excepting myself; and I too should long ago have been
devoured had not an old Rakshasi, conceiving strange affection for
me, prevented the other Rakshasas from eating me up. You see those
sticks of silver and gold; the old Rakshasi, when she goes away in
the morning, kills me with the silver stick, and on her return in
the evening re-animates me with the gold stick. I do not know how
to advise you; if the Rakshasas see you, you are a dead man." Then
they both talked to each other in a very affectionate manner, and
laid their heads together to devise if possible some means of escape
from the hands of the Rakshasas. The hour of the return of the seven
hundred raw-eaters was fast approaching; and Keshavati--for that
was the name of the princess, so called from the abundance of her
hair--told Champa to hide himself in the heaps of the sacred trefoil
which were lying in the temple of Siva in the central part of the
palace. Before Champa went to his place of concealment, he touched
Keshavati with the silver stick, on which she instantly died.
Shortly after sunset Champa Dal heard from beneath the heaps of the
sacred trefoil the sound as of a mighty rushing wind. Presently he
heard terrible noises in the palace. The Rakshasas had come home
from cruising, after having filled their stomachs, each one, with
sundry goats, sheep, cows, horses, buffaloes, and elephants. The old
Rakshasi, of whom we have already spoken, came to Keshavati's room,
roused her by touching her body with the gold stick, and said--
"Hye, mye, khye!
A human being I smell."
On which Keshavati said, "I am the only human being here; eat me if you
like." To which the raw-eater replied, "Let me eat up your enemies;
why should I eat you?" She laid herself down on the ground, as long
and as high as the Vindhya Hills, and presently fell asleep. The other
Rakshasas and Rakshasis also soon fell asleep, being all tired out on
account of their gigantic labours in the day. Keshavati also composed
herself to sleep; while Champa, not daring to come out of the heaps
of leaves, tried his best to court the god of repose. At daybreak all
the raw-eaters, seven hundred in number, got up and went as usual to
their hunting and predatory excursions, and along with them went the
old Rakshasi, after touching Keshavati with the silver stick. When
Champa Dal saw that the coast was clear, he came out of the temple,
walked into Keshavati's room, and touched her with the gold stick,
on which she woke up. They sauntered about in the gardens, enjoying
the cool breeze of the morning; they bathed in a lucid tank which
was in the grounds; they ate and drank, and spent the day in sweet
converse. They concocted a plan for their deliverance. They settled
that Keshavati should ask the old Rakshasi on what the life of a
Rakshasa depended, and when the secret should be made known they would
adopt measures accordingly. As on the preceding evening, Champa, after
touching his fair friend with the silver stick, took refuge in the
temple beneath the heaps of the sacred trefoil. At dusk the Rakshasas
as usual came home; and the old Rakshasi, rousing her pet, said--
"Hye, mye, khye!
A human being I smell."
Keshavati answered, "What other human being is here excepting
myself? Eat me up, if you like." "Why should I eat you, my darling? Let
me eat up all your enemies." Then she laid down on the ground her huge
body, which looked like a part of the Himalaya mountains. Keshavati,
with a phial of heated mustard oil, went towards the feet of the
Rakshasi, and said, "Mother, your feet are sore with walking; let me
rub them with oil." So saying, she began to rub with oil the Rakshasi's
feet; and while she was in the act of doing so, a few tear-drops from
her eyes fell on the monster's leg. The Rakshasi smacked the tear-drops
with her lips, and finding the taste briny, said, "Why are you weeping,
darling? What aileth thee?" To which the princess replied, "Mother,
I am weeping because you are old, and when you die I shall certainly
be devoured by one of the Rakshasas." "When I die! Know, foolish girl,
that we Rakshasas never die. We are not naturally immortal, but our
life depends on a secret which no human being can unravel. Let me
tell you what it is that you may be comforted. You know yonder tank;
there is in the middle of it a Sphatikasthambha, [12] on the top of
which in deep waters are two bees. If any human being can dive into
the waters, and bring up to land the two bees from the pillar in one
breath, and destroy them so that not a drop of their blood falls to
the ground, then we Rakshasas shall certainly die; but if a single
drop of blood falls to the ground, then from it will start up a
thousand Rakshasas. But what human being will find out this secret,
or, finding it, will be able to achieve the feat? You need not,
therefore, darling, be sad; I am practically immortal." Keshavati
treasured up the secret in her memory, and went to sleep.
Early next morning the Rakshasas as usual went away; Champa came
out of his hiding-place, roused Keshavati, and fell a-talking. The
princess told him the secret she had learnt from the Rakshasi. Champa
immediately made preparations for accomplishing the mighty deed. He
brought to the side of the tank a knife and a quantity of ashes. He
disrobed himself, put a drop or two of mustard oil into each of his
ears to prevent water from entering in, and dived into the waters. In
a moment he got to the top of the crystal pillar in the middle of the
tank, caught hold of the two bees he found there, and came up in one
breath. Taking the knife, he cut up the bees over the ashes, a drop
or two of the blood fell, not on the ground, but on the ashes. When
Champa caught hold of the bees, a terrible scream was heard at a
distance. This was the wailing of the Rakshasas, who were all running
home to prevent the bees from being killed; but before they could reach
the palace, the bees had perished. The moment the bees were killed,
all the Rakshasas died, and their carcases fell on the very spot on
which they were standing. Champa and the princess afterwards found
that the gateway of the palace was blocked up by the huge carcases
of the Rakshasas--some of them having nearly succeeded in getting to
the palace. In this manner was effected the destruction of the seven
hundred Rakshasas.
After the destruction of the seven hundred raw-eating monsters, Champa
Dal and Keshavati got married together by the exchange of garlands of
flowers. The princess, who had never been out of the house, naturally
expressed a desire to see the outer world. They used every day to
take long walks both morning and evening, and as a large river was
hard by Keshavati wished to bathe in it. The first day they went to
bathe, one of Keshavati's hairs came off, and as it is the custom
with women never to throw away a hair unaccompanied with something
else, she tied the hair to a shell which was floating on the water;
after which they returned home. In the meantime the shell with the hair
tied to it floated down the stream, and in course of time reached that
ghat [13] at which Sahasra Dal and his companions were in the habit
of performing their ablutions. The shell passed by when Sahasra Dal
and his friends were bathing; and he, seeing it at some distance,
said to them, "Whoever succeeds in catching hold of yonder shell
shall be rewarded with a hundred rupees." They all swam towards it,
and Sahasra Dal, being the fleetest swimmer, got it. On examining
it he found a hair tied to it. But such hair! He had never seen so
long a hair. It was exactly seven cubits long. "The owner of this
hair must be a remarkable woman, and I must see her"--such was the
resolution of Sahasra Dal. He went home from the river in a pensive
mood, and instead of proceeding to the zenana for breakfast, remained
in the outer part of the palace. The queen-mother, on hearing that
Sahasra Dal was looking melancholy and had not come to breakfast,
went to him and asked the reason. He showed her the hair, and said
he must see the woman whose head it had adorned. The queen-mother
said, "Very well, you shall have that lady in the palace as soon as
possible. I promise you to bring her here." The queen-mother told her
favourite maid-servant, whom she knew to be full of resources--the same
who was a Rakshasi in disguise--that she must, as soon as possible,
bring to the palace that lady who was the owner of the hair seven
cubits long. The maid-servant said she would be quite able to fetch
her. By her directions a boat was built of Hajol wood, the oars of
which were of Mon Paban wood. The boat was launched on the stream,
and she went on board of it with some baskets of wicker-work of
curious workmanship; she also took with her some sweetmeats into
which some poison had been mixed. She snapped her fingers thrice,
and uttered the following charm:--
"Boat of Hajol!
Oars of Mon Paban!
Take me to the Ghat,
In which Keshavati bathes."
No sooner had the words been uttered than the boat flew like lightning
over the waters. It went on and on, leaving behind many a town and
city. At last it stopped at a bathing-place, which the Rakshasi
maid-servant concluded was the bathing ghat of Keshavati. She landed
with the sweetmeats in her hand. She went to the gate of the palace,
and cried aloud, "O Keshavati! Keshavati! I am your aunt, your mother's
sister. I am come to see you, my darling, after so many years. Are you
in, Keshavati?" The princess, on hearing these words, came out of her
room, and making no doubt that she was her aunt, embraced and kissed
her. They both wept rivers of joy--at least the Rakshasi maid-servant
did, and Keshavati followed suit through sympathy. Champa Dal also
thought that she was the aunt of his newly married wife. They all
ate and drank and took rest in the middle of the day. Champa Dal,
as was his habit, went to sleep after breakfast. Towards afternoon,
the supposed aunt said to Keshavati, "Let us both go to the river and
wash ourselves." Keshavati replied, "How can we go now? my husband
is sleeping." "Never mind," said the aunt, "let him sleep on; let me
put these sweetmeats, that I have brought, near his bedside, that he
may eat them when he gets up." They then went to the river-side close
to the spot where the boat was. Keshavati, when she saw from some
distance the baskets of wicker-work in the boat, said, "Aunt, what
beautiful things are those! I wish I could get some of them." "Come,
my child, come and look at them; and you can have as many as you
like." Keshavati at first refused to go into the boat, but on being
pressed by her aunt, she went. The moment they two were on board,
the aunt snapped her fingers thrice and said:--
"Boat of Hajol!
Oars of Mon Paban!
Take me to the Ghat,
In which Sahasra Dal bathes."
As soon as these magical words were uttered the boat moved and flew
like an arrow over the waters. Keshavati was frightened and began to
cry, but the boat went on and on, leaving behind many towns and cities,
and in a trice reached the ghat where Sahasra Dal was in the habit of
bathing. Keshavati was taken to the palace; Sahasra Dal admired her
beauty and the length of her hair; and the ladies of the palace tried
their best to comfort her. But she set up a loud cry, and wanted to be
taken back to her husband. At last when she saw that she was a captive,
she told the ladies of the palace that she had taken a vow that she
would not see the face of any strange man for six months. She was
then lodged apart from the rest in a small house, the window of which
overlooked the road; there she spent the livelong day and also the
livelong night--for she had very little sleep--in sighing and weeping.
In the meantime when Champa Dal awoke from sleep, he was distracted
with grief at not finding his wife. He now thought that the woman,
who pretended to be his wife's aunt, was a cheat and an impostor,
and that she must have carried away Keshavati. He did not eat the
sweetmeats, suspecting they might be poisoned. He threw one of
them to a crow which, the moment it ate it, dropped down dead. He
was now the more confirmed in his unfavourable opinion of the
pretended aunt. Maddened with grief, he rushed out of the house,
and determined to go whithersoever his eyes might lead him. Like a
madman, always blubbering "O Keshavati! O Keshavati!" he travelled
on foot day after day, not knowing whither he went. Six months were
spent in this wearisome travelling when, at the end of that period, he
reached the capital of Sahasra Dal. He was passing by the palace-gate
when the sighs and wailings of a woman sitting at the window of
a house, on the road-side, attracted his attention. One moment's
look, and they recognised each other. They continued to hold secret
communications. Champa Dal heard everything, including the story of
her vow, the period of which was to terminate the following day. It
is customary, on the fulfilment of a vow, for some learned Brahman
to make public recitations of events connected with the vow and
the person who makes it. It was settled that Champa Dal should take
upon himself the functions of the reciter. Accordingly, next morning,
when it was proclaimed by beat of drum that the king wanted a learned
Brahman who could recite the story of Keshavati on the fulfilment
of her vow, Champa Dal touched the drum and said that he would make
the recitation. Next morning a gorgeous assembly was held in the
courtyard of the palace under a huge canopy of silk. The old king,
Sahasra Dal, all the courtiers and the learned Brahmans of the country,
were present there. Keshavati was also there behind a screen that she
might not be exposed to the rude gaze of the people. Champa Dal, the
reciter, sitting on a dais, began the story of Keshavati, as we have
related it, from the beginning, commencing with the words--"There
was a poor and half-witted Brahman, etc." As he was going on with
the story, the reciter every now and then asked Keshavati behind the
screen whether the story was correct; to which question she as often
replied, "Quite correct; go on, Brahman." During the recitation of
the story the Rakshasi maid-servant grew pale, as she perceived that
her real character was discovered; and Sahasra Dal was astonished
at the knowledge of the reciter regarding the history of his own
life. The moment the story was finished, Sahasra Dal jumped up from
his seat, and embracing the reciter, said, "You can be none other
than my brother Champa Dal." Then the prince, inflamed with rage,
ordered the maid-servant into his presence. A large hole, as deep
as the height of a man, was dug in the ground; the maid-servant was
put into it in a standing posture; prickly thorn was heaped around
her up to the crown of her head: in this wise was the maid-servant
buried alive. After this Sahasra Dal and his princess, and Champa
Dal and Keshavati, lived happily together many years.
Thus my story endeth,
The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.
V