Now let us turn to the Hindu legend which I came across in a Sind
magazine. It ran as follows:—
Once upon a time Brahmanabad, now a heap of ruins, was the glory of all
Sind. It stood on an oasis in the desert; and to guard its people from
sudden raids by desert tribes, one of its kings had built round it a
great wall. Beneath the wall flowed the river Indus, on whose waters
the merchant ships of Brahmanabad carried the city’s commerce up and
down Sind. Inside the walls were rich houses, countless gardens, and a
mighty tower, that served as a landmark for miles around. About a mile
and a half from Brahmanabad was the royal suburb of Dalor in which
stood the king’s palace and the quarters of his guards. Some five miles
from Brahmanabad stood the suburb of Depur. Therein lived the ministers
with their public offices and their record-rooms and storehouses. Along
the banks of the river was a collection of huts, wherein lived a wild
gipsy tribe known as Madu. They lived by selling milk and ghi to the
rich burghers of Brahmanabad.
The reigning King Amrai was beloved by his people and when his queen
died, he would not give her place to another. He devoted his life to
the upbringing of their only son, prince Dalu Rai. Unhappily so evil
was the lad’s nature, that the more care the king spent on him the
worse he grew. He gathered round him a band of bad companions and all
day and every day the royal palace resounded with the cries of the
prince’s victims. At last the king out of all patience, shut up his son
in the tall tower which looked over the country round Brahmanabad. But
the fickle mob at once turned round. “What a cruel father!” they cried.
“Fancy treating thus the heir to the throne!” King Amrai consulted his
ministers and they advised him to free his son, but at the same time to
put in charge of him some wise and virtuous old man, who by example and
precept would show him the error of his ways. King Amrai thought their
advice good and freeing the prince, appointed a wise old man to look
after him and to teach him. Although the king said nothing to Dalu Rai,
the latter guessed, when an aged pandit called on him, that he was in
some way to be over him. He instantly resolved to treat the old man in
such a way that neither he nor any other old man in the kingdom would
accept the post again. He pretended to listen with the greatest
attention to all the old man’s words and seemed so eager to do what was
right, that the sage thought the prince the most charming of pupils.
After some hours of talk, the prince made his master dine with him.
During the meal the old man talked as one inspired; and as he talked,
the prince’s servants filled his glass over and over again with drugged
wine. Before the meal was over the poor old pandit was fast asleep. The
prince had him put to bed and as he lay asleep, the prince’s barber
shaved off the sage’s moustaches and stuck in their place crow’s
feathers. Next morning when the old man awoke, he passed his hand over
his face and found the horrible thing that had been done to him. He
rose, fled from the prince’s house and threw himself at King Amrai’s
feet and told him of the prince’s cruel trick. The king soothed the old
man as best he could; but he was so affected, that he never shewed
himself in the Darbar Hall again.
The prince was thus free to act as he pleased. One evening he and his
good for nothing companions went out a-hawking. Game was scarce and
their hawks caught nothing. At last they reached a well near a Madu
hamlet not far from the town. Vexed at their ill luck, they loosed
their hawks at some tame pigeons that belonged to the villagers and
happened to be circling near the well. All the pigeons but one took
shelter in their dovecotes. One pigeon flew into the air followed by
the prince’s hawk. For some time the two birds soared in the air, one
unable to rise above the other. At last the hawk’s strong wings bore it
above the pigeon and it made its swoop. The frightened pigeon dropped
like a stone to the ground at the feet of a Madu maiden of 16, who was
filling her jar at the well. The girl picked up the pigeon and stroking
its feathers put it in her bosom. The hawk robbed of its prey, flew
back to perch on the wrist of the prince’s huntsman. The prince rode up
to the girl and with an evil smile on his lips, told her that she might
keep the pigeon. He would not hunt it now that it had taken shelter in
her bosom. The girl turned on him scornfully and said “A fine hunter
you are to hawk a tame pigeon!” The prince pretended to be sorry for
what he had done and then asked the girl to give him a drink of water
from her jar. But the Madu maiden disliking his looks and tone, told
him to get one of his servants to fetch water for him. But the prince
pressed her, pleading that their horses were restive. Reluctantly the
girl went close to him to give him a cup of water. Suddenly he caught
her by the waist and swung her in front of him. A moment later he and
his companions were riding as fast as they could to the prince’s
palace. Some Madu men ran after them but in vain. The prince carried
off the girl and the men with him said in jest “The prince’s hawk lost
its prey, but the prince had better luck!” As the party neared the
palace, they passed an aged Brahman, who, hearing the cries of the
struggling girl, begged the prince to free her. But Dalu Rai only
snarled at him to mind his own business. The Brahman, who was a mighty
anchorite, flew into a passion and cursed him. “As a punishment for
your cruelty,” he cried, “you will never live to be old. Your city will
be destroyed and you will perish with it so suddenly, that you will not
have time to give even a handful of grain in charity!”
The prince paid little heed to the anchorite’s curse, but bore his prey
inside the palace. There he found everyone excited as the princess had
just borne her lord a son. But the prince pushed past his servants and
took the Madu girl to a distant part of the palace and there tried to
win her consent. But she scornfully rejected his promises of rich
clothes and fine jewels. At last when he had lost all patience and was
about to offer her violence, he heard a knock at his door. It was a
messenger who brought the news that King Amrai was dead. At the same
time he told the prince that Banbho, one of his associates wished to
speak to him most urgently. The prince was unwilling to leave the Madu
girl, but he could not refuse so grave a message, especially as Banbho
was not only the wickedest but by far the wisest of his evil
companions. The prince went out, locked the door behind him, and took
Banbho into another room. The news Banbho brought was of the gravest.
“The news I bring, my Prince,” he said slowly, “is as bad as it can be.
Unless you act at once this palace of yours is certain to become your
prison. The late king was angry with you, as you know, and before he
died, he had engraved as his will on a brass plate that you were never
to sit on the throne. In your stead the ministers were to put your son
if you had one, and if not, your distant cousin. Now that a son has
been born to the princess, think what a handle your enemies will have
against you! They will put you in prison and make your infant son king
of Brahmanabad. You must act at once!” Banbho’s plan was simple. It was
to proclaim the prince as king in Brahmanabad and then to gallop with
every available man to Depur where the ministers had assembled to carry
out the late king’s wishes. Banbho taking some men with him, first rode
through the streets of Brahmanabad, shouting “Victory to Dalu Rai
Maharaj!” The crowd at once caught up the cry and were soon shouting
“Victory to Dalu Rai Maharaj” through every lane and byway in the city.
This done, Banbho returned to the prince’s palace and he and the prince
and his companions and all the guards whom they could muster, set off
together at headlong speed for Depur. While Banbho was thus rousing his
master to action, the prime-minister and the commander-in-chief and the
principal nobles of Brahmanabad were seated together in one of the
council rooms of Depur. The prime-minister, respected above all for his
age and wisdom and for his faithful service of the late king, put
before his colleagues the brass plate of King Amrai and proposed that
they should take instant steps to seize the person of Dalu Rai and put
his newly born son on the throne. Several of the nobles objected
strongly. For all their respect for the late king and their dislike of
Dalu Rai, they disliked still more the coronation of a newly born
infant with all the dangers of a long regency. While they were in high
debate, the commander-in-chief heard a noise in the courtyard and
guessing its cause, said with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders: “I
am afraid we are too late, gentlemen. The prince has come in person to
settle the succession.” Dalu Rai and Banbho followed by their troopers
rushed up the stairs and Banbho knocking at the door, demanded entrance
in the king’s name. Receiving no answer, he caught up a heavy pickaxe
and with a single blow broke open the lock. The door flew open and the
prince and his men rushed in. Many of the nobles at once joined him.
But the chief minister and a few others remained seated. As the prince
stepped forward, the prime-minister gave him the brass plate on which
was engraved his father’s will. The prince read it and glowing with
rage “from his topknot to his toenails,” rushed at the old man. Both
sides drew their swords. A fight ensued, but it was soon over. The
prime-minister and the commander-in-chief lay dead on the ground and
the rest surrendered.
Dalu Rai would at once have gone back to the Madu maiden; but Banbho
who “had a crow’s wisdom” prevailed on him to spend the day and the
following night on the late king’s funeral ceremonies. All day long and
all that night Dalu Rai’s thoughts were far away with his unhappy
captive. Next morning Banbho pressed him to hold a Darbar and win over
the state officers and townspeople by concessions and gifts. But Dalu
Rai could restrain himself no longer. “You spoiler of pleasure!” he
cried angrily to Banbho, “I am not going to hold a Darbar! Tell my
officers that I am too stricken with sorrow to hold one.” With these
words King Dalu Rai left Banbho to manage as best he could, and rode
off with all speed to the conquest of the Madu maiden. Unluckily for
him, he had carelessly left behind him his dagger when summoned by
Banbho. The Madu girl had picked it up and when the wicked king would
have caught her in his arms she pointed the dagger at him and
threatened to stab him if he came near her. As he stood uncertain what
to do, he heard cries outside his palace “Maharaja! Maharaja!” Dalu Rai
went to the verandah and looking down saw his courtyard full of
frightened people. “Maharaja, save us!” they cried. “Brahmanabad will
be destroyed.” Dalu Rai looked towards the horizon and saw a huge mass
of sand like a tidal wave advancing on Brahmanabad. The sky was as
black as pitch. The sun was hidden and the Indus had left its course
and seemed to be fleeing before the sandstorm. As he gazed at the
fearful scene, a voice cried: “To-day Brahmanabad shall perish because
of its ruler’s wickedness!” The king remembered the anchorite’s curse
and would have ridden away leaving his city and his people to their
fate. But as he walked to the door a youth with drawn sword barred his
way. “Who are you?” asked the king. “I am your death,” was the grim
answer. The king had no other wish but to flee from the doomed town;
but the youth would not let him pass. At last the king drew his sword
and the two men fought. The youth was skilled in swordmanship but even
so he was no match for Dalu Rai, who was a master of the art. In a few
minutes the king drove his sword through the youth’s heart and bending
over him dragged him into the Madu maiden’s room. As he did so, the
girl drove her dagger into his back. “Why did you strike me?” asked the
dying king. “Was the youth your kinsman?” “He was my betrothed,” said
the girl with white lips and blazing eyes. The king fainted and life
left him. The girl took some wood from the hearth where a fire was
burning and lit the drapery in the room. In a few minutes it was
blazing. The fire spread to the rest of the palace and it was soon a
burning mass. At the same time the sand reached the walls of
Brahmanabad. The burghers sought flight in all directions, but flight
was useless. The sandwave caught them and stifled them, until at last
there was not a living soul left in Brahmanabad.
The curse of the anchorite had been fulfilled to the letter.