toe-nail. Now, Princess Jahúran was very angry that this unknown
beautiful prince should have thrown the ball three times, and hit her
twice, and hurt her the third time, and yet had never spoken to her
father, or let any one know who he was, and had always, on the
contrary, ridden away as hard as he could, no one knew where. She was
very much in love with him, and was very anxious to find this Rájá who
had hit her twice, so she ordered a bow and arrow to be brought to
her, and said she would shoot the Rájá the next time he hit her. She
would not kill him; she would only shoot the arrow at him. Well, the
next evening Prince Monkey threw the ball, and it fell on her other
foot and hurt her great toe-nail. When he saw she was hurt, he was
very sorry in his heart, and said, "Did I hurt you?" "Yes," she said,
"very much." "Oh, I am so sorry," said the prince. "I would not have
thrown the ball so hard had I thought it would hurt you." Then she
shot the arrow, and hit him in the leg, and a great deal of blood came
out of the wound; but he rode hard away to the jungle all the same,
only this time he did not take off his fine clothes, but he drew the
monkey-skin over them, and his horse went up to heaven, and he went
back to the tents. Then the princess sent a servant into the town, and
said, whoever or whatever he should hear crying with pain, he should
bring to her--were it a man, or a jackal, or a dog, or a wild beast.
So the servant went round the town. The six brothers had gone to
sleep, but the poor monkey brother could not sleep, but sat up crying
from pain. He could not help it, do what he would, and the servant, as
he went round the town, heard him crying. So he took him and brought
him to the princess, and the princess said she would marry him.
"What!" cried her father, "marry that monkey? Never! Who ever heard
of any one marrying a monkey, a nasty monkey?" But in spite of all the
king said, the princess declared marry that monkey she would. "I like
that monkey very, very much," she said. "I will marry him. It is my
pleasure to marry him." "Well," said the Rájá at last, "if it is your
pleasure to marry him, you must marry him; but who ever heard of any
one marrying a nasty monkey?"
So they were married at once; and the Monkey Prince wore his
monkey-skin for a wedding garment.
That night when they went to bed, the young prince drew off his skin
and lay down by Jahúran, and when she saw her beautiful husband she
was so glad, so glad. "Why do you wear a monkey-skin?" she asked. He
answered, "I wear it as a protection, because my brothers are naughty,
and would kill me if they knew what I really am."
They lived very happily with King Jamársá for six months, and the six
elder brothers went on living there too, and hating him more and more
for having such a beautiful wife.
But one night Prince Monkey thought of his mother, and he said to his
wife, "My mother perhaps is crying for me. Let us go to my father's
kingdom, and see her." Princess Jahúran agreed; so next morning they
spoke to King Jamársá, who said they might go.
The six brothers at once said, "We will go with you;" and they also
said, "Let us get two big boats, one for you and the princess, and one
for ourselves, and let us go by water, and not by land." Now by water
it took only six days to get to Jabhú Rájá's kingdom, by land it took
three months. The Monkey Prince agreed to all his brothers said.
Princess Jahúran heard them planning to throw the monkey into the
water on the journey, and then to take her home to their father as the
wife of one of them; so as she was very wise she went to her father
and begged him to have six large beautiful mattresses, well stuffed
with cotton, made for her.
"What can you want with six mattresses?" said the king. "I want my
bed to be very comfortable on board the boat," said his daughter. Her
father loved her dearly, so he had her mattresses made, beautiful
mattresses and well stuffed with cotton. The princess had them all
carried to her boat.
When everything was ready they went on board the boats with the
monkey's six brothers. Now, the princess had warned her husband of his
brothers' wicked plans, and she said to him, "Never go near your
brothers; never speak to your brothers; for they want to kill you."
The first day the six brothers said to the monkey, "Please bring us a
little salt." But the monkey said, "No; my wife will take you some."
"No," said the brothers, "your wife cannot bring us any. She is a
princess. Do you bring us some." So they threw a rope from one boat to
another, and the monkey went on the rope, and the brothers untied it,
and the monkey fell into the water. Then the princess cried out, "My
husband will be drowned! My husband will be drowned!" And she threw
out one of the mattresses; the monkey sat on it; it floated back to
his boat, and the crew drew him up.
The next day the six brothers begged Prince Monkey to bring them
water, and they threw a plank from their boat to his for him to cross
on. The prince set off with the water, in spite of all his wife's
entreaties, and his brothers tilted the plank into the water. The
prince would have been drowned had not the Princess Jahúran thrown him
a mattress. And the same thing happened during the next four days. The
brothers wanted something to eat or drink, and their monkey-brother
brought it them across a rope or plank, which they cut or dropped into
the water, and he would have died but for the mattresses which his
wife threw to him one by one.
When they reached Jabhú Rájá's kingdom, the eldest son went on shore
up to his father's palace. Each of the Rájá's seven wives had a house
to herself in his compound. He went to his mother's house and said,
"Give me your palanquin, mother, for I have brought home a most lovely
wife, and want to bring her to the palace."
At this news his mother was delighted, and she told it to the other
Ránís, and said, "My son has brought home such a lovely wife! I am so
glad! oh, I am so glad!" The youngest Rání began to cry bitterly. "My
son," she said, "is nothing but a monkey; he will never be married; he
will never have a wife at all."
Then the palanquin was got ready, and the seven Ránís and the prince
went with it to the boat. The Princess Jahúran came on land with her
monkey, and when the Ránís saw her, they all cried, "How lovely she
is! how beautiful!" And the eldest Rání was gladder than ever, and the
youngest cried still more. The princess got into the palanquin with
her monkey. "What are you doing with that horrid monkey?" said the
eldest prince. "Put him out of the palanquin directly." "Indeed I will
not," said the princess. "He is my husband, and I love him." "What!"
cried all the Ránís, "are you married to that monkey?" "Yes," said the
princess. "Then get out of my palanquin at once," said the eldest
Rání. "You shall not ride in my palanquin with that nasty monkey." The
youngest Rání was very glad her son had such a beautiful wife. So the
princess got out, and took her monkey in her arms and walked with him
to the youngest Rání's house, and there they all lived for some time.
Now the little Rání did not know her son was really a beautiful man,
for the princess never told her, as her husband had forbidden her to
tell any one.
One evening Jabhú Rájá's servants had a grand nautch in the Rájá's
compound, and the Rájá and his sons and the neighbouring Rájás all
came to see it. Prince Monkey said to his wife, "I, too, will go and
see this nautch." So he took off his monkey-skin, folded it up and
laid it under her pillow. Then he put on the clothes God had sent him
from heaven the last time he threw the ball, and which he had not
laid on his horse's back when he put his monkey-skin on again, and
when he came among all the Rájás and people who were looking on at the
nautch, they all exclaimed, "Who is that? Who can it be?" He was very
handsome, and he had beautiful hair all gold. When he had stayed some
time, Prince Monkey went quickly back to his wife, and in the morning
he put on his monkey-skin again.
Now the little Rání, his mother, though she was very glad her monkey
son had such a wife, could never understand how it was that her
daughter-in-law was so happy with him. "How could you marry him?" she
used to say to her. "Because it pleased me to marry him," the princess
used to answer. "How can you be so happy with him?" said the mother.
"I love him," said the princess; and the poor Rání used to wonder at
this more and more.
Well, one day there was another nautch, and Prince Monkey went to it;
but he left his skin under his wife's pillow. As soon as he had gone,
she called the little Rání, and said, "See, you think my husband is a
monkey; he is no monkey, but a very handsome man. There is no one like
him, he is so beautiful." The Rání did not believe her. Then the
princess took the skin from under her pillow. "See," she said, "when
your son puts this on, then he is a monkey; when he takes it off he is
a beautiful man. And now, I think I will burn this skin, and then he
must always be a man. What do you say?" "Are you sure it won't hurt
him if you burn his skin?" said his mother. "Perhaps he may die if it
is burnt." "Oh, no, he won't die," said the princess. "Shall I burn
it?" "Burn it," said the little Rání. Then the princess threw the skin
on the fire and burnt it quite up.
Prince Monkey was sitting looking on at the nautch when suddenly his
heart told him his wife had burnt his skin. He jumped up directly and
went home, and when he found his heart had told him true, he was so
angry with his wife, that he would say nothing to her but "Why did you
burn my skin?" and he was in such a rage that he went straight to bed
and went to sleep.
In the morning, while he slept, the princess went to the little Rání,
and said, "Come and see your beautiful son." "I am ashamed to do so,"
said the Rání. "Ashamed to look at your own son? What nonsense! Come
directly," said Princess Jahúran. Then the little Rání went with her,
and when she saw her beautiful son she was indeed glad, and the prince
opened his eyes and saw her, and then he kissed her, and they were
very happy.
The news spread through the compound, and Jabhú Rájá and his sons and
everybody came at once to see if it were true. When they saw the
beautiful young prince, with his hair all gold, they could not stand,
but fell down. Prince Monkey lifted his father and loved him, and put
his arms round him, and said, "I am your son, your own son; you must
not fall down before me." "Why did you wear that monkey-skin?" asked
his father. "Because," he said, "my mother ate the mango stone instead
of eating the mango, and so I was born with this skin, and God ordered
me to wear it till I had found a wife." His brothers said, "Who could
have guessed there was such a beautiful man inside that monkey-skin?
God's decrees are good!" And they left off hating their brother,
Prince Monkey.
There were great rejoicings and feasts now, and all were very happy.
The six elder brothers lived always with their father and Prince
Monkey, but none of them ever married.
Told by Dunkní.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
XI.
BRAVE HÍRÁLÁLBÁSÁ.
Once there was a Rájá called Mánikbásá Rájá, or the Ruby King, who had
seven wives and seven children. One day he told his wives he would go
out hunting, and he rode on and on, a long, long way from his palace.
A Rakshas was sitting by the wayside, who, seeing the Rájá coming,
quickly turned herself into a beautiful Rání, and sat there crying.
The Rájá asked her, "Why do you cry?" And the Rakshas answered, "My
husband has gone away. He has been away many days, and I think he will
never come back again. If some Rájá will take me to his house and
marry me, I shall be very glad." So the Rájá said, "Will you come with
me?" And the Rakshas answered, "Very well, I will come." And then the
Rájá took the pretended Rání home with him and married her. He gave
her a room to live in. Every night at twelve o'clock the Rakshas got
up and devoured an elephant, or a horse, or some other animal. The
Rájá said, "What can become of my elephants and horses? Every day
either an elephant or a horse disappears. Who can take them away?" The
Rakshas-Rání said to him, "Your seven Ránís are Rakshases, and every
night at twelve o'clock they devour a horse, or an elephant, or some
other creature."
So the Rájá believed her, and had a great hole dug just outside his
kingdom, into which he put the seven Ránís with their children, and
then he sent a sepoy to them and bade him take out all the Ránís'
eyes, and bring them to him. This the sepoy did. After a time the
poor Ránís grew so hungry that six of them ate their children, but the
seventh Rání, who was the youngest of them all, declared she would
never eat her child though she might die of hunger, "for," she said,
"I love him a great deal too much." God was very pleased with the
seventh Rání for this, and so every day he sent her a little food,
which she divided with the other Ránís. And every day her little boy
grew bigger, and bigger, and bigger, until he had become a strong lad,
when, as he thought it was very dark in the hole, he climbed out of it
and looked all about. Then he came back to his mothers (for he called
all the seven Ránís "Mother" now), who told him he was not to clamber
up out of the hole any more, for if he did, some one might kill him.
"Still, if you will go," they added, "do not go to your father's
kingdom, but stay near this place." The boy said, "Very well," and
every day he climbed out of the hole and only went where his seven
mothers told him he might go, and he used to beg the people about to
give him a little rice, and flour and bread, which they did.
One day he said to his mothers, "If you let me go now to my father's
kingdom, I will go." "Well, you may go," they said; "but come back
again soon." This he promised to do, and he went to his father's
kingdom. For some time he stood daily at the door of his father's
palace and then returned to the hole. One day the Rakshas-Rání was
standing in the verandah, and she thought, "I am sure that is the
Rájá's son." The servants every day asked the boy, "Why do you always
stand at the door of the palace?" "I want service with the Rájá," he
would reply. "If the Rájá has any place he can give me, I will take
it."
The Rakshas-Rání said to the Rájá, "The boy standing out there wants
service. May I take him into mine?" The Rájá answered, "Very well,
send for him." So all the servants ran and fetched the boy. The
Rakshas-Rání asked him, "Are you willing to do anything I tell you?"
The boy said, "Yes." "Then you shall be my servant," she said, and
first she told him he must go to the Rakshas country to fetch some
rose-water for her. "I will give you a letter," she said, "so that no
harm may happen to you." The lad answered, "Very well, only you must
give me three shields full of money." She gave him the three shields
full of money, and he took them and went home to his mothers. Then he
got two servants for them, one to take care of them, and one to go to
the bazar. His mothers gave him food for the journey, and he left them
the remainder of his money, telling them to take great care of it. He
then returned to the Rakshas-Rání for his letter. She told the Rájá
she was feeling ill, and would not be quite well until she got some
rose-water from the Rakshas country. The Rájá said, "Then you had
better send this boy for it." So she gave him a letter, in which she
had written, "When this boy arrives among you, kill him and eat him
instantly," and he set out at once.
He went on and on till he came to a great river in which lived a huge
water-snake. When the water-snake saw him it began to weep very much,
and cried out to the boy, "If you go to the Rakshas country you will
be eaten up." The lad, whose name was Hírálálbásá, said, "I cannot
help it; I am the Rání's servant, so I must do what she tells me."
"Well," said the water-snake, "get on my back, and I will take you
across this river." So he got on the water-snake's back, and it took
him over the river. Then Hírálálbásá went on and on until he came to a
house in which a Rakshas lived. A Rání lived there too that the
Rakshas had carried off from her father and mother when she was a
little girl. She was playing in her father the Sondarbásá Rájá's
garden, which was full of delicious fruits, which the Rakshas came to
eat, and when he saw Sonahrí Rání he seized her in his mouth and ran
off with her. Only she was so beautiful he could never find it in his
heart to eat her, but brought her up as his own child. Her name was
Sonahrí Rání, that is, the Golden Rání, because her teeth and her hair
were made of gold. Now the Rakshas who had carried her off, and whom
she called Papa, had a great thick stick, and when he laid this stick
at her feet she could not stir, but when he laid it at her head, she
could move again.
When the Rájá's son came up, Sonahrí Rání was lying on her bed with
the thick stick at her feet, and as soon as she saw the Rájá's son she
began to cry very much. "Oh, why have you come here? You will surely
be killed," she said. The Rájá's son answered, "I cannot help that. I
am the Rání's servant, so I must do what she tells me." "Of course,"
said Sonahrí Rání; "but put this stick at my head, and then I shall be
able to move." The Rájá's son laid the stick at her head, and she got
up and gave him some food, and then asked him if he had a letter.
"Yes," he answered. "Let me see it," said the Sonahrí Rání. So he gave
her the letter, and when she had read it she cried, "Oh, this is a
very wicked letter. It will bring you no good; for if the Rakshases
see it, they will kill you." "Indeed," said Hírálálbásá. And the
Sonahrí Rání tore up the letter and wrote another in which she said,
"Make much of this boy. Send him home quickly, and give him a jug of
rose-water to bring back with him, and see that he gets no hurt." Then
the Rájá's son set out again for the Rakshas-Rání's mother's house. He
had not gone very far when he met a very big Rakshas, and he cried out
to him, "Uncle." "Who is this boy," said the Rakshas, "who calls me
uncle?" And he was just going to kill him when Hírálálbásá showed his
letter, and the Rakshas let him pass on. He went a little further
until he met another Rakshas, bigger than the first, and the Rakshas
screamed at him and was just going to fall on him and kill him, but
the Rájá's son showed the letter, and the Rakshas let him pass
unhurt. When Hírálálbásá came to the Rakshas-Rání's mother he showed
her the letter, and she gave him the rose-water at once and sent him
off. All the Rakshases were very good to him, and some carried him
part of the way home. When he came to Sonahrí Rání's house she was
lying on her bed with the stick at her feet, and as soon as she saw
Hírálálbásá she laughed and said, "Oh, you have come back again? Put
this stick at my head." "Yes," said the Rájá's son, "I've come back
again, but I was dreadfully frightened very often." Then he put the
stick at her head, and she gave him some food to eat. After he had
eaten it he went on again, and when he came to the river the
water-snake carried him across to the other side, and he travelled to
his father's kingdom. There he went to the Rakshas-Rání and gave her
the rose-water. She was very angry at seeing him, and said, "I'm sure
my father and my mother, my brothers and my sisters, don't love me one
bit."
And she said to Hírálálbásá, "You must go to-morrow to the Rakshas
kingdom to fetch me flowers." "I will go," said Hírálál, "but this
time I must have four shields full of rupees." The Rakshas-Rání gave
him the four shields full of rupees; and the Rájá's son went to his
mother's hole and bought a quantity of food for them, enough to last
them all the time he should be away, and he hired two servants for
them, and said good-bye to his seven mothers and returned to
Mánikbásá's palace for his letter. This the Rakshas-Rání gave him, and
in it she wrote, "Kill him and eat him at once. If you do not, and you
send him back to me, I will never see your faces again." Hírálál took
his letters and went on his way. When he reached the river the
water-snake took him across to the other side, and he walked on till
he came to Sonahrí Rání's house. She was lying on the bed with the
stick at her feet. "Oh, why have you come here again?" she said. "How
can I help coming?" said the Rájá's son. "I must do what my mistress
bids me." "So you must," said the Sonahrí Rání; "but put this stick at
my head." This he did, and she got up and gave him food, and asked him
to let her see his letter, and when she had read it she cried, "This
is a very wicked letter. If you take it with you, you will surely
die." Then she tore up the letter and burnt it, and wrote another in
which she said, "You must all be very good to this boy. Show him all
the gardens and see that he is not hurt in any way." She gave it to
Hírálál, and he begged her to ask the Rakshas, her father, where he
kept his soul. Sonahrí Rání promised she would. She then turned
Hírálál into a little fly, and put him into a tiny box, and put the
box under her pillow. When the Rakshas came home he began sniffing
about and said, "Surely there is a man here." "Oh, no," said Sonahrí
Rání; "no one is here but me." The Rakshas was satisfied. When Sonahrí
Rání and her father were in bed she asked, "Papa, where is your soul?"
"Why do you want to know?" said the Rakshas. "I will tell you another
day."
The next day at nine in the morning the Rakshas went away, and Sonahrí
Rání took Hírálál and restored him to his human shape, and gave him
some food, and he travelled on till he reached the Rakshas-Rání's
mother, whom he called Grannie. She welcomed him very kindly and
showed him the garden, which was very large. The Rájá's son noticed a
number of jugs and water-jars. So he said, "Grannie, what is there in
all these jars and jugs?" She answered, showing them to him one by
one, "In this is such and such a thing," and so on, telling him the
contents of each, till she came to the water-jar in which were his
mothers' eyes. "In this jar," said the Rakshas, "are your seven
mothers' eyes." "Oh, grannie dear!" said Hírálál, "give me my mothers'
eyes." "Very well, dear boy," said the old Rakshas, "you shall have
them." She gave him, too, some ointment, and told him to rub the eyes
with it when he put them into his mothers' heads, and that then they
would see quite well; and he took the eyes and tied them up in a
corner of his cloth. His grannie gave him the flowers, and he went
back to Sonahrí Rání. She was lying on her bed with the stick at her
feet, and when she saw him she laughed and said, "Oh, so you have come
back again?" "Yes, I have," said Hírálál; "and I have got the flowers,
and my seven mothers' eyes too." "Have you indeed?" said Sonahrí Rání.
"Put this stick at my head." He did so, and she got up and gave him
some food, and he told her to ask her father the Rakshas where his
soul was. She promised she would, and she changed him into a little
fly, and shut him up in a tiny box, and put the tiny box under her
pillow. By and by home came the Rakshas, and began to sniff about
crying, "A man is here!" "Oh, no," said Sonahrí Rání; and she gave him
some dinner, and when they were in bed she asked him, "Papa, where is
your soul?" "I'll tell you another day," said the Rakshas. The next
day, when he had gone out to find food, Sonahrí Rání took the little
fly, Hírálál, and restored him to his human shape, and gave him some
food and sent him on his way. When he reached the river, the
water-snake took him over to the other side, and he journeyed on till
he came to his father's kingdom. First he went to his mothers' hole
and gave them their fourteen eyes, and he put them into their heads
with the ointment which the Rakshas-grannie had given him. Then he
went to Mánikbásá Rájá's palace, and when the Rakshas-Rání saw him she
was furious. "I am sure my father and my mother, my sisters and my
brothers, do not love me one bit. I will never see their faces again.
But I'll send him to them once more."
This is what she thought, but she took the flowers and said, "You must
go a third time to the Rakshas country."
"I will," said the boy: "only I'll not go till the fourth day from
to-day, for I am very tired. And you must give me four shields full of
rupees." "Good," said the Rakshas-Rání. "This time you must get me a
sárí."[2] And she gave him the four shields full of money. Then he
went to his mothers, and bought them a house and got food for them,
and stayed with them four days.
At the end of the four days he went to the Rakshas-Rání, who gave him
a letter in which she had written, "If you do not kill and eat this
boy as soon as he arrives, I will never see your faces again." The
Rájá's son took the letter and set out on his journey.
When he came to the river, the water-snake took him across; and when
he arrived at Sonahrí Rání's house, there she was lying on her bed
with the thick stick at her feet. She said, "Oh, you have come here
again, have you?" "Yes," he said, "I have come for the last time."
"Put the stick at my head," said she. So he laid the stick at her
head. Then she gave him some food, and just before the Rakshas came
home, he bade her ask him where he kept his soul. When she saw him
coming, Sonahrí Rání turned Hírálálbásá into a little fly, put him in
a tiny box, and put the box under her pillow. As soon as she and the
Rakshas had gone to bed, she asked him, "Papa, where do you keep your
soul?" "Sixteen miles away from this place," said he, "is a tree.
Round the tree are tigers, and bears, and scorpions, and snakes; on
the top of the tree is a very great fat snake; on his head is a little
cage; in the cage is a bird; and my soul is in that bird." The little
fly listened all the time. The next morning, when the Rakshas had
gone, Sonahrí Rání took the fly and gave him back his human form, gave
him some food, and then asked to see his letter. When she had read it
she screamed and said, "Oh! if you go with this letter you will
surely die." So she tore it up into little bits and threw it into the
fire. And she wrote another in which she said, "Make a great deal of
this boy; see that he gets no hurt; give him the sárí for me; show him
the garden; and be very kind to him." She then gave Hírálál the
letter, and he journeyed on in safety till he reached his
Rakshas-grannie's house.