gave him the sárí; and he then said his mother, the Rakshas-Rání, was
in great trouble about her soul, and wanted very much to have it. So
the Rakshas-grannie gave him a bird in which was the Rakshas-Rání's
soul, charging him to take the greatest care of it. Then he said, "My
mother, the Rakshas-Rání, also wants a stone such that, if you lay it
on the ground, or if you put it in your clothes, it will become gold,
and also your long heavy gold necklace that hangs down to the waist."
Both these things the Rakshas-grannie gave to Hírálál. Then he
returned to Sonahrí Rání's house, where he found her lying on her bed
with the thick stick at her feet. "Oh, there you are," said Sonahrí
Rání, laughing. "Yes," he said, "I have come." And he put the stick at
her head, and she got up and gave him some food.
He told her he was going to fetch her Rakshas-father's soul, but that
he did not quite know how to pass through the tigers and bears, and
scorpions and snakes, that guarded it. So she gave him a feather, and
said, "As long as you hold this feather straight, you can come to no
harm, for you will be invisible. You will see everything, but nothing
will see you."
He carried the feather straight as she had bidden him and reached the
tree in safety. Then he climbed up it, took the little cage, and came
down again. Though the Rakshas was far off, he knew at once something
had happened to his bird. Hírálál pulled off the bird's right leg, and
the Rakshas' right leg fell off, but on he hopped on one leg. Then
the Rájá's son pulled off the bird's left leg, and off fell the
Rakshas' left leg, but still he went on towards his house on his
hands. Then Hírálál pulled off the bird's wings, and the Rakshas' two
arms fell off. And then, just as the Rakshas reached the door of his
house, Hírálál wrung the bird's neck, and the Rakshas fell dead.
Sonahrí Rání was greatly frightened when she heard such a heavy thing
fall thump on the ground so close to the house, but she could not
move, for the thick stick lay at her feet. Hírálál ran as fast as he
could to Sonahrí Rání. When he arrived at the door of her house he saw
the Rakshas lying dead, and he went in and told Sonahrí Rání that her
Rakshas-father was killed. "Nonsense," she said. "It is true," said
Hírálál; "come and see." So he put the stick at her head. "I am sure
you are telling a lie," said Sonahrí Rání. "I should be very glad if
he were dead, for I do not like living with him, I am so afraid of
him." "Indeed he's dead. Do come and see," said Hírálál. Then they
went outside, and when Sonahrí Rání saw her Rakshas-father lying there
dead, she was exceedingly happy, and said to Hírálál, "I will go home
with you, and be your wife." So they were married, and then they went
into Sonahrí Rání's Rakshas-father's house and took all the money and
jewels they could find. And Hírálál gave the sárí, the stone, and the
necklace to Sonahrí Rání, and he took some flowers for the
Rakshas-Rání.
When they came to the river, the water-snake carried them across to
the other side, and they travelled on till they came to Mánikbásá
Rájá's kingdom. There Hírálál went first of all to his mothers, and
when they saw Sonahrí Rání they wondered who the beautiful woman could
be that their son had brought home. He said to them, "This is Sonahrí
Rání, my wife. But for her I should have died." Then he bought a grand
house for Sonahrí Rání and his seven mothers to live in, and he got
four servants for Sonahrí Rání, two to cook, and two to wait on her.
The seven mothers and Sonahrí used all to sit on a beautiful, clean
quilted cushion, as big as a carpet, Sonahrí Rání in the middle and
the seven mothers round her, while they sewed, or wrote, and talked.
Hírálál then went to the Rakshas-Rání and said, "I could not get the
sárí you sent me for, so I brought you these flowers instead." When
she saw the flowers she was frantic. She said, "My father, my mother,
my sisters, my brothers, don't care for me, not one bit! not one
scrap! I will never see their faces again--never! never! I will send
some other messenger to them."
One day the Rájá's son came to Mánikbásá and said, "Would you like to
see a grand sight?" Mánikbásá Rájá said, "What sight?" Hírálál said,
"If you would like to see a really grand sight you must do what I tell
you." "Good," answered Mánikbásá, "I will do whatever you tell me."
"Well, then," said his son, "you must build a very strong iron house,
and round it you must lay heaps of wood. In that house you must put
your present Rání." So Mánikbásá Rájá had a very strong iron house
built, round which he set walls of wood. Then he went to his
Rakshas-Rání and said, "Will you go inside that iron house, and see
what it is like?" "Yes, I will," answered she. The Rájá had had great
venetians made for the house, and only one door. As soon as the
Rakshas-Rání had gone in, he locked the door. Then Hírálál took the
little bird, a cockatoo, in which was the Rakshas-Rání's soul, and
showed it to the Rakshas-Rání from afar off. When she saw it she
turned herself into a huge Rakshas as big as a house. She could not
turn in the iron house because she was so huge. Mánikbásá was
dreadfully frightened when he saw his Rání was a horrible Rakshas.
Then Hírálál pulled off the bird's legs, and as the Rakshas was
breaking through the iron house to seize Hírálál, he wrung the
cockatoo's neck, and the Rakshas died instantly. They set fire to the
walls of wood, and the body of the wicked Rakshas was burnt to fine
ashes.
The Rájá's Wazír turned to the Rájá and said, "What a fool you were to
marry this Rakshas, and at her bidding to send your seven wives and
your seven sons away into the jungle, taking out your seven wives'
eyes, and being altogether so cruel to them! You are a great, great
fool!" The poor Rájá wept, and then the Wazír, pointing to Hírálál,
said, "This is your seventh and youngest Rání's son." The Rájá then
embraced Hírálálbásá and asked his forgiveness. And Hírálál told him
his story, how he and his mothers had lived a long, long time in the
hole; how six of the Ránís had eaten their children; how his mother
had not had the heart to eat him; how he had got his seven mothers'
eyes from the Rakshas-grannie; and lastly, how he had married Sonahrí
Rání. Then the Rájá ordered seven litters for his seven Ránís, and a
beautiful litter with rich cloth for Sonahrí Rání. The Rájá and his
Wazír and his attendants, and his son, all went with the litters to
Hírálál's house; and when the Rájá saw Sonahrí Rání he fell flat on
his face, he was so struck by her beauty. For she had a fair, fair
skin, rosy cheeks, blue eyes, rosy lips, golden eyelashes, and golden
eyebrows, and golden hair. When she combed her hair, she used to put
the hair she combed out in paper and to lay the paper on the river,
and it floated down to where the poor people caught it, and sold it,
and got heaps of money for it. Her sárí was of gold, her shoes were of
gold, for God loved her dearly. Then the Rájá rose and embraced all
his wives and Sonahrí Rání, and the seven Ránís walked into the seven
litters; but Sonahrí Rání was carried to hers, for fear she should
soil her feet, or get hurt. Then Mánikbásá Rájá gave Hírálál's house
to his Wazír, while his seven Ránís and Hírálál and Sonahrí Rání lived
with him in his palace. And they lived happily for ever after.
Told by Dunkní at Simla, 26th July and 1st August, 1876.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] A long piece of stuff which Hindú women wind round the body
as a petticoat, passing one end over the head, like a veil.
[Decoration]
XII.
THE MAN WHO WENT TO SEEK HIS FATE.
Once there was a very poor man who had a wife and twelve children, and
not a single rupee. The poor children used to cry with hunger, and the
man and his wife did not know what to do. At last he got furious with
God and said, "How wicked God is! He gives me a great many children,
but no money." So he set out to find his fate. In the jungle he met a
camel with two heavy sacks of gold on its back. This camel belonged to
a Rájá, and once it was travelling with other camels and with the
Rájá's servants to another country, and carrying the sacks of gold.
Every night they encamped and started again early in the morning; but
one morning the servants forgot to take this camel with them, and the
camel forgot the road home, and the sacks were too tightly strapped
for it to get rid of them. So it wandered about the jungle with the
sacks on its back for twelve years. The camel asked the poor man where
he was going. "I am going to seek my fate, to ask it why I am so
poor," he answered. The camel said, "Ask it, too, why for twelve years
I have had to carry these two sacks of gold. All this time I have not
been able to lie down, or to eat, or to drink." "Very well," said the
man, and he went on.
Then he came to a river in which he saw an alligator. The alligator
took him across, and when he got to the other side it asked him where
he was going. The man said, "I am going to seek my fate, to ask it
why I am so poor." "Then," said the alligator, "ask it also why for
twelve years I have a great burning in my stomach." "I will," said the
man.
Then he went on and on till he came to a tiger, who was lying on the
ground with a great thorn sticking in his foot. This tiger had gone
out one day to hunt for food, and not looking where he was going, he
put his foot on the thorn, and the thorn ran into his foot. And so God
grew very angry and said, "Because you are such a careless, stupid
fellow, and don't look where you are going, for twelve years this
thorn shall remain in your foot." "Where are you going?" the tiger
asked the man. "I am going to seek my fate, to ask it why I am so
poor. Some one told me that my fate was far, far away, a twelve years'
journey from my own country, and that it was lying down, and that I
must take a thick stick and beat it with all my might." "Ask it, too,"
said the tiger, "why for twelve years I have had this thorn in my foot
and cannot get it out, though I have tried hard to do so." "Yes, I
will," said the man.
Then he came to the place where every one's fate lives. The fates are
stones, some standing and others lying on the ground. "This must be
mine," he said; "it is lying on the ground, that's why I am so poor."
So he took the thick stick he had in his hand, and beat it, and beat
it, and beat it, but still it would not stir. As night was approaching
he left off beating it, and God sent a soul into the poor man's fate,
and it became a man, who stood looking at the poor man and said, "Why
have you beaten me so much?" "Because you were lying down, and I am
very poor, and at home my wife and my children are starving." "Oh,
things will go well with you now," said the fate, and the man was
satisfied. He said to his fate, "While coming here I met a camel who
for twelve years has had to wander about with two heavy sacks of gold
on its back, and it wants to know why it must carry them." "Oh," said
the fate, "just take the sacks off its back and then it will be free."
"I will," said the poor man. "Then I met an alligator who for twelve
years has had a great burning in its stomach." The fate said, "In its
stomach is a very large ruby, as big as your hand. If the alligator
will only throw up the ruby, it will be quite well." "Next I met a
tiger who has had for twelve years a great thorn in his foot which he
cannot take out." "Pull it out with your teeth," said the fate; and
then God withdrew the soul, and the fate became a stone again which
stood up on the ground.
Then the man set out on his journey home, and he came to the tiger.
"What did your fate say?" said the tiger. "Give me your foot and I
will take out the thorn," said the poor man. The tiger stretched out
the foot with the thorn in it, and the man pulled out the thorn with
his teeth. It was a very large thorn, as big as the man's hand. The
tiger felt grateful to the poor man, and as he was very rich, for he
had eaten a great many Rájás and people, and had all their money, he
said to the man, "I will give you some gold in return for your
kindness." "You have no money," said the man. "I have," said the
tiger, and he went into his den, and the poor man followed. "Give me
your cloth," said the tiger. The man laid it on the ground. Then the
tiger took quantities of gold and jewels and filled the cloth with
them. And the poor man took up his cloth, thanked the tiger, and went
his way. Then he met the alligator who took him across the river. The
alligator said, "Did you ask your fate why there is such burning in my
stomach?" "I did," said the man. "It is because you have a very large
ruby in your stomach. If you will only throw it up, you will be quite
well." Then the alligator threw the ruby up out of its mouth, and that
very instant the burning in its stomach ceased. "Ah," said the
alligator, looking at the ruby, "I swallowed that one day when I was
drinking." And he gave the ruby to the man, saying, "In return for
your kindness I will give you this ruby. It is a very precious stone."
(In old days every Rájá possessed such a ruby; now very few Rájás, if
any, have one.) The poor man thanked the alligator, put the ruby into
his cloth, and went on his way till he came to the camel, who said,
"Did you ask your fate why I have to carry these two sacks of gold?"
"I did," said the man, and he took the sacks off the camel's back. How
happy and grateful the camel felt! "How kind of you," he said to the
man, "to take the sacks off. Now I can eat, now I can drink, and now I
can lie down. Because you have been so kind to me, I give you the two
sacks of gold, and I will carry them and your bundle home to your
house for you, and then I will come back and live here in the jungle."
Then the poor man put the two sacks of gold and his bundle on the
camel, who carried them to his house. When he got there, he took the
sacks and his bundle off the camel, who thanked him again for his
kindness and went back to his jungle, feeling very glad at having got
rid of his heavy burthen.
When the poor man's wife and children saw the gold and jewels and the
ruby, they cried, "Where did you get these?" And the man told them his
whole story. And he bought food for his wife and children, and gave
them a beautiful house, and got them clothes, for now he was very
rich.
Another poor man who was not quite, but nearly, as poor as this man
had been, asked him where he had got his riches. "I got them out of a
river," answered the man. "I drew the water with a bucket, and in
every bucketful there was gold." The other man started off to the
river and began drawing up water in a bucket. "Stop, stop!" cried an
alligator, who was the king of the fishes; "you are taking all the
water out of the river and my fishes will die." "I want money," said
the man, "and I can find none, so I am taking the water out of the
river in order to get some." "You shall have some in a minute," said
the alligator, "only do stop drawing the water." Then a great wave of
water dashed on to the land and dashed back into the river, leaving
behind it a great heap of gold, which the man picked up joyfully. The
next day he came again, and night and day he drew water out of the
river. At last the alligator got very angry, and said, "My fishes will
all die for want of water. Once I gave the man a heap of gold, and yet
he wants more. I won't give him any," and the alligator thrust up his
head out of the river, and swallowed the man whole. For four days and
four nights the man lived in the alligator's stomach. At the end of
the fourth night the king of the fishes said to him, "I will let you
get out of my stomach on condition that you tell no man what has
happened to you. If you do, you will die instantly." The man jumped
out of the alligator's mouth and walked towards his house. On his way
he met some men and told them what had happened to him, and as soon as
he got home he told his wife and children, and the moment he had done
so he became mad and dumb and blood came out of his mouth, and he fell
down dead.
Told by Dunkní.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
XIII.
THE UPRIGHT KING.
There was a great Mahárájá whose name was Harchand Rájá, and he had an
only son called Mánikchand. He was very rich and had a great deal of
money, and he also had a very large garden full of lovely flowers and
fruits which he prized greatly. Every morning before he bathed he used
to give some poor fakír two pounds and a half of gold. Now Harchand
Mahárájá used to pray a great deal to God, and God was very fond of
him, so he said one day, "To see if Harchand Mahárájá really loves me,
I will make him very poor for twelve years." And at night God came
down in the shape of a great boar, and ate up everything that was in
Harchand Mahárájá's garden. The boar then ran away into the jungle.
Next morning the gardener got up and looked out into the garden, and
what was his astonishment when he saw it was all spoilt. Nothing was
left in it; it was not a garden any more. He went quickly to the
Mahárájá and said, "Oh, master! oh, Mahárájá! your garden is quite
spoilt. Last night a boar came and ate up everything in it."
"Nonsense," said the Mahárájá, who would not believe him. "It is quite
true," said the gardener; "you can come and see for yourself." So the
Rájá got up at once and put on his clothes, and went into the garden,
and found it all empty. He went back to the house very melancholy.
Then as usual he gave a fakír his two pounds and a half of gold. After
breakfast he went out hunting. The boar which had run away into the
wood changed himself into a very old fakír, who shook from old age. As
Harchand Mahárájá passed, the old fakír held out his hand, saying,
"Please give me a few pice, I am so poor and hungry." The Mahárájá
said, "Come to my palace and I will give you two pounds and a half of
gold." "Oh, no," said the fakír, "surely you would never give me so
much as that." "Yes, I will," said the Mahárájá. "Every morning before
I bathe I give a fakír two pounds and a half of gold." "Nonsense,"
said the fakír, "you don't give away your money in that way." "Really,
I do," said the Mahárájá, "and I promise to give you two pounds and a
half of gold." So the fakír followed Harchand Mahárájá home, and when
they reached the palace, the Mahárájá told his treasurer to give the
old fakír two pounds and a half of gold. The treasurer went into the
treasury, but all the Mahárájá's gold and silver and jewels had become
charcoal! The treasurer came out again to the Mahárájá saying, "Oh,
Mahárájá, all your gold and silver and jewels are turned into
charcoal!" "Oh, nonsense," said the Mahárájá. "Come and see,
Mahárájá," said the treasurer, who was in a great fright. The Mahárájá
went into his treasury, and was quite sad at the sight of the
charcoal. "Alas!" he said, "God has made me very poor, but still I
must give this fakír his money." So he went to the fakír and said,
"All my gold and silver and jewels are turned into charcoal; but I
will sell my wife, and my boy, and myself, and then I will give you
the money I promised you." And he went and fetched his wife and son,
and left his palace, his houses, servants, and possessions.
He then went to a merchant, who bought from him his Mahárání, who was
called Hírálí, that is, the diamond lady, for she was very beautiful,
and her face shone like a diamond. Her hands were very small, and so
were her feet. The merchant gave the Mahárájá a pound of gold for the
Mahárání. Next, Harchand Mahárájá went to a cowherd and sold him his
son Mánikchand. The cowherd gave him for the boy half a pound of gold.
Then he went to a dom, that is, a man of a very low caste, who kept a
tank into which it was his business to throw the bodies of those who
died. If it was a dead man or woman, the dom took one rupee, if it was
a dead child he was only paid eight annas. To this dom Harchand sold
himself for a pound of gold, and he gave the two pounds and a half of
gold to the fakír, who then went home. The dom said, "Will you stay by
the tank for a few days while I go home and do my other work, which is
weaving baskets? If any one brings you a dead body you must throw it
into the water. If it is the body of a man or woman, take one rupee in
payment; if it is a dead child, take eight annas; and if the bearers
have got no money, take a bit of cloth. Don't forget." And the dom
went away, leaving Harchand sitting by the tank.
Well, Harchand Mahárájá sat for some days by the tank, and when any
one brought him dead bodies he threw them into it. For a dead man or
woman he took one rupee, for a dead child eight annas, and if the
bearers had no money to give him, he took some cloth. Some time had
passed, and Mánikchand, the Mahárájá's son, died; so Hírálí Rání went
to the cowherd to ask him for her dead child. The cowherd gave him to
her, and she took him to the tank. Harchand Mahárájá was sitting by
the tank, and when Hírálí Mahárání saw him she said, "I know that man
is my husband, so he will not take any money for throwing his child
into the water." So she went up to him and said, "Will you throw this
child into the tank for me?" "Yes, I will," said Harchand Mahárájá;
"only first give me eight annas." "You surely won't take any money for
throwing your own son into the tank?" said the Mahárání. "You must pay
me," said Harchand Mahárájá, "for I must obey the dom's orders. If you
have no money, give me a piece of cloth." So the Mahárání tore off a
great piece of her sárí and gave it him, and the Mahárájá took his son
and threw him into the tank. As he threw him in he cried out to the
king of the fishes, who was an alligator, "Take great care of this
body." The king of fishes said, "I will." Then the Mahárání went back
to the merchant.
And the Mahárájá caught a fish, and cooked it, and laid it by the
tank, saying, "I will go and bathe and then I will eat it." So he took
off his clothes and went into the tank to bathe, and when he had
bathed he put on fresh clothes, and as he took hold of his fish to eat
it, it slipped back alive into the water, although it had been dead
and cooked. The Mahárájá sat down by the tank again, very sad. He
said, "For twelve years I have found it hard to get anything to eat;
how long will God keep me without food?" God was very pleased with
Harchand for being so patient, for he had never complained.
Some days later God came down to earth in the shape of a man, and with
him he took an angel to be his Wazír. The Wazír said to God, "Come
this way and let us see who it is sitting by the tank." "No," said
God, "I am too tired, I can go no further." "Do come," said the Wazír;
"I want so much to go." God said, "Well, let us go." Then they walked
on till they came to the place where Harchand Mahárájá was sitting,
and God said to him, "Would you like to have your wife, and your son,
and your kingdom back again?" "Yes, I should," said the Mahárájá; "but
how can I get them?" "Tell me truly," said God, "would you like to
have your kingdom back again?" "Indeed I should," said the Mahárájá.
Then Mánikchand's body, which had never sunk to the bottom of the tank
like the other bodies, but had always floated on the water, rose up
out of the water, and Mánikchand was alive once more. The father and
son embraced each other. "Now," said God, "let us go to the dom."
Harchand Mahárájá agreed, and they went to the dom and asked him how
much he would take for Harchand Mahárájá. The dom said, "I gave one
pound of gold for him, and I will take two pounds." So they paid down
the two pounds of gold. Then they went to the merchant and said to
him, "How much will you take for Hírálí Rání?" The merchant said, "I
gave a pound of gold for her; I will take four pounds." So they paid
down the four pounds of gold, took Hírálí Rání, and went to the
cowherd. "How much will you take for Mánikchand?" said they to him. "I
gave half a pound of gold for him," answered the cowherd; "I will take
one pound." So they paid down the pound of gold, and Harchand Mahárájá
went home to his palace, taking with him Hírálí Rání and Mánikchand,
after thanking the strange man for his goodness to them. When they
reached the palace, the garden was in splendid beauty; the charcoal
was turned back into gold, and silver, and jewels; the servants were
in waiting as usual, and they went into the palace and lived happily
for evermore.
Told by Dunkní.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
XIV.
LOVING LAILÍ.