me a fakír like yourself," for he thought it would be fine to do such
wonderful things. But Goraknáth would not, and King Burtal stayed in
the jungle with Goraknáth for twelve years, and all that time he never
ceased begging and praying to be made a fakír, till at last Goraknáth
said, "I cannot make you a fakír unless you go home and address your
wives as 'Mamma,' and ask them to give you money and food." Now, it is
a very shameful thing to call one's wife 'Mamma,' for if a wife is
called 'Mamma' she has to leave her husband. Then Goraknáth took off
the king's clothes, and dressed him only in a cloth and a tiger's
skin; and the king went to his palace and began begging for rice and
food, and he would not take any from the palace servants: he said he
must and would see the Ránís, and that they themselves should give him
food. The servants told the Ránís about this fakír who said he must
and would see them himself, and that they should give him food and
rice with their own hands, and one of their ayahs, who had recognized
King Burtal, told them the fakír was their husband who had been away
twelve years. The Ránís cried out, "Do not talk nonsense. That fakír
can never be our husband." "Go and see for yourselves," answered the
ayah. They went, and the fakír said to them, "Mamma, give me rice."
"Why do you call us 'Mamma'?" they said. "We have no sons. You are not
our son." But at last they saw he was indeed their husband, and they
wrung their hands and wept bitterly, and threw themselves on the
ground before him and said, "Why have you called us 'Mamma'? Why do
you ask for bread? We must now leave you." "Don't go away," said the
king. "Take my kingdom, my money, my houses, and stay here till I
return. I am going to be a fakír." His wives gave him some rice and
some money, and he went back to Goraknáth.
In old days men who intended to become fakírs had to do three tasks
set them by one who was already a fakír; so Goraknáth said to the
king, "Now you must go to a jungle that I will show you, and stay
there for twelve years." Then King Burtal took the flat pan and the
rolling-pin which he used in making his flour cakes, and was quite
ready to start for the jungle, but the fakír stopped him. "You must
leave your pan and your rolling-pin behind," he said; "and all these
twelve years you must neither eat nor drink, or you can never be a
fakír. You must sit quite still on the same spot and never move." "I
shall die if I don't eat," said the king; "but I don't care if I do
die, so I will do all you tell me." Then the fakír took him to a
jungle, and made him sit down on the grass, and instantly all the
grass round him grew up so tall and thick that King Burtal was quite
hidden by it, and no one could see him. Here he lived for twelve
years, and never moved, and he ate nothing, and drank nothing, and
nobody knew he was there.
At the end of that time Goraknáth came and took him away and said,
"Now go home to your wives." "Why should I go to my wives? I do not
wish to see my wives, for they have given me no children," said King
Burtal. But Goraknáth said, "Go and see them." So King Burtal went;
and he begged for rice from them; and they entreated him to stay with
them, but he would not. "I will return to the fakír Goraknáth," he
said. "Why should I stay with you? You have never given me a child.
What use is all my wealth to me? I have no son to take it when I am
dead. I will become a fakír." And they threw themselves on the ground
and wrung their hands, and said, "Oh, why will you leave us?" He
answered, "Because it pleases me to do so." And he called them all
"Mamma," and told them to stay in his palace and take all he possessed
for their own use. Then he returned to Goraknáth.
"Now," said Goraknáth, "you must learn to be sweeper to all the beasts
of the jungle, and you must serve them for twelve years." So for
twelve years King Burtal cleared the grass and kept the jungle clean
for all the creatures in it--cows, sheep, goats, tigers, cats, bears.
Sometimes he stayed in one part of the jungle, and sometimes in
another.
When the twelve years were over he went to Goraknáth, who said to him,
"Good; you have learnt to serve the wild beasts; now you must learn to
serve men." Then the fakír took the king to a village, and bade him
sweep it and keep it clean for twelve years. Here King Burtal stayed
for another twelve years, and all that time he was the village-sweeper
and kept the village clean, and he swept all the dust and dirt into a
great heap till the heap was as high and as big as a hut.
When the twelve years were over he returned to Goraknáth and stood
before him, and as he stood there came a man who was an angel sent by
God, and he threw some dirt on King Burtal's head; but the king never
moved nor spoke. "Now," cried Goraknáth, "I see you are a true fakír:
go and cleanse yourself by bathing in the river."
The river in which he was sent to bathe was the Jamná. In this river
lived water-nymphs, and the nymph Gangá was playing in it when her
sister Jamná[3] came to her and said, "Come quickly; our father is
dying and wants to see you;" and off Jamná went to her father. Gangá
was hurrying after her when King Burtal saw her, and stopped her, and
asked her where she was going so fast. "To my father, who is very ill
and dying," said Gangá; "let me go." "I will not let you go," said
King Burtal. Then Gangá began to run, and said, "You cannot keep me,
you cannot catch me; no man can catch me, no man can keep me." This
provoked King Burtal, and he said, "I can catch you, and I can keep
you." "No, no," she answered; "no one can catch me, no one can hold
me." Then King Burtal got quite vexed, and he ran till he caught her,
and then he said, "Now, I will not let you go; I will keep you." Then
he held her in his hands and rubbed her between his palms, and when he
opened his hands she had turned into a little round ball. He tried to
hide the ball in his hair, but could not, for his hair was too short,
and he found he could not hold Gangá, as she was too strong for him;
so he thought he would take her to Mahádeo,[4] who had long thick
hair, and make him keep her, for King Burtal was dreadfully frightened
and did not dare let the ball go, for fear Gangá, who he knew was very
angry, should take her own form and bring a great flood to drown him.
So he went quickly to Mahádeo, and gave the ball to him. Mahádeo said,
"Why not keep her yourself?" "I cannot," said King Burtal, "for my
hair is too short to tie her into; and I cannot hold her, for she is
too strong for me; but your hair is long, and so you can hide her in
it." Then Mahádeo had a round box made of bamboo, and in this box was
a hole into which he dropped the ball. And he let down his long hair,
and it reached to the ground, and was thick--so thick; he put the box
in his hair on the top of his head, and rolled his long hair all round
his head and over the box just like a turban.
Jamná finding her sister did not follow her, came up from the bottom
of the river to look for her, and she asked whether any one had seen
her, and at last some one said, "King Burtal has taken her away."
Jamná set off to King Burtal and said, "Give me my sister Gangá, for
our father is dying and wants to see her." "It is true that I took her
away," said King Burtal, "but I have not got her now; she is with
Mahádeo." So Jamná went to Mahádeo,--"Give me my sister quickly, for
our father is dying and wants to see her." (Now Gangá was in a great
passion inside her box.) "I cannot give you Gangá," said Mahádeo, "for
she is so angry that if I let her loose she will flood the country
with water." "No, she will not; indeed, she will not," said Jamná. "If
I give her to you, you will not be able to keep her," said Mahádeo.
"Yes, yes, I shall," said Jamná. "I do not think you will," said
Mahádeo; "but here is the box in which said is. Hold it tight, and be
careful that neither you nor any one else mentions her name on the
journey." Jamná said she would be very careful, and took the box; but
she had to pass through a jungle in which were a number of cowherds
and holy men, one of whom was called Gangá. Just as Jamná passed by,
one of these men called to this man by his name, Gangá, and instantly
Gangá burst the box and flooded the country with water. The holy men
and the cowherd called to her to have pity on them, and so did Jamná;
but Gangá was too angry to listen to them or speak to them, so she
drowned all the holy men and the cowherds, and when she got to her
father's house and found he was dead, she was in such a rage that she
declared she would send a still greater flood to ruin the country; and
so she did.
After this, King Burtal went to Goraknáth and stayed with him some
years, till Goraknáth said, "Now go to your own kingdom." But King
Burtal refused, saying, "I wish to stay with you; my wives have never
given me a child. I have no son. I do not care to return to my
kingdom." However, Goraknáth would not allow him to stay. "Go to your
own kingdom," he said again; "but first tell me how many wives you
have." "A hundred and sixty," answered the King. "Here are a hundred
and sixty líchí fruits for you," said the fakír. "Give one to each of
your wives to eat, and they will each have a son, and I will go with
you." So King Burtal obeyed, and Goraknáth went with him.
Seventy years had passed since King Burtal had left his kingdom. When
he and Goraknáth reached it, they went to an open plain and made a
fire and sat down beside it. Everybody who passed them said, "Who are
these fakírs?" Some servants of King Burtal's Ránís passed too, and
when they got home they told the Ránís that their husband had returned
to his kingdom. But the Ránís said, "What nonsense you talk! King
Burtal went away with the fakír Goraknáth." The servants answered, "We
are quite sure that King Burtal is here, for Goraknáth is here, and
with him is another man, and we are sure this man is King Burtal." So
all the Ránís went to see for themselves, and when they saw the fakír
that was with Goraknáth they knew he was their husband. Then the first
Rání, who was very angry with him for having left them, said a spell
over him: "God is very angry with you for leaving us, and he will send
you a bad illness." But King Burtal answered, "Do not be angry with
me. I am your husband, and have come back to you after an absence of
seventy years." At this the youngest Rání was very glad, and she
ordered drums to be beaten and she beat a drum herself, and they sang
songs, and all went to the palace together, and Goraknáth with them.
Then Goraknáth said he must now go away, but first he asked King
Burtal to show him a grand feat as a proof of his skill. So King
Burtal sent to the smith for a great iron chain. Then he lit a big
fire. This alarmed the palace servants, who wondered if he were going
to burn his palace and his wives. King Burtal next sent for some ghee.
"What is he going to do with the ghee?" said the palace servants. Then
he drove a nail into the wall, rubbed his hands with the ghee, put the
iron chain into the fire and drew it out red-hot; flames came from the
iron. Then King Burtal hung it on the nail and pulled and pulled at
the chain till he drew it off the nail, and his hands were not in the
least burnt. The Ránís and palace servants were greatly astonished and
Goraknáth much pleased. "You know how to do your work well," said he
to the king. Then Goraknáth bade him good bye, telling him to look
after his kingdom and his wives; but they all said he must not leave
them, and they built him a grand house in the compound, and gave him a
great many servants to wait on him, and plenty of money; so Goraknáth
agreed to live in this house; only, as he was a fakír, he often went
away by himself to spend some time in his jungle, always returning to
his house in King Burtal's compound. Meanwhile King Burtal gave each
of his wives a líchí to eat, and after a little while each wife had a
little son. They were all such beautiful children; but the biggest and
handsomest of all was the eldest Rání's little son. His name was
Sazádá, and his father and mother loved him dearly.
When Prince Sazádá was about six or seven years old, the fakír
Goraknáth came to King Burtal and said, "Now you must give me your
son Sazádá, for I want to take him away with me for some years." The
Rání, his mother, refused to let him go, but at last she had to do so,
and then she became mad and very sick for grief.
Goraknáth took the little prince to Indrásan to be taught by the
fairies, and on arriving he married him to Jahúr Rání, who was the
daughter of the greatest of the fairy queens. Goraknáth made a grand
wedding for the little prince, and all the fairies were delighted that
he should be the little Jahúr Rání's husband, for he was such a
beautiful child they all fell in love with him the moment they saw
him, and they taught him to play on all kinds of instruments, and to
sing beautifully, and to read and write, and he grew handsomer and
handsomer every day in the fairy kingdom. Goraknáth came often to see
him, and the fairies took great care of him.
When Prince Sazádá had grown a fine strong young man, Goraknáth took
him and his wife, the Jahúr Rání, and brought them in great state to
King Burtal's kingdom. First he took the young prince and presented
him to his father and said, "See, here is your son. Now he can read
and write, sing and play on all kinds of instruments, for I have had
him taught all these things." But they, when they saw him, fell on
their faces, for they could not look at him on account of his great
beauty. He had grown so handsome in Indrásan, and his cheeks were red.
"How can this beautiful boy be our son?" they said, and they did not
recognize him. "Stand up," said Goraknáth. "This is your son Sazádá;
do not fall down before your son." So they stood up, and the fakír
said, "I have married your son to the fairy princess Jahúr Rání, and I
will bring her to you." So then he brought the little Rání, and when
they saw her they fell down again, for they could not look at her
beauty. Her hair was like red gold, her eyes were dark, and her
eyelashes black. But Goraknáth made them stand up; and when they
really understood it was their son and his wife that he had brought
them, they took Prince Sazádá into their arms, and kissed him and
loved him, and his Rání too. Goraknáth made a grand wedding-feast for
them all, and they were all very happy.
Told by Dunkní.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Yamuná.
[4] Mahadeva, _i.e._ Siva.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
XVI.
SOME OF THE DOINGS OF SHEKH FARÍD.
Once there was a Rájá called Hámánsá Rájá. He had a son, named Gursan
Rájá, who married Kheláparí Rání, the daughter of Gulábsá Rájá. After
the wedding Gursan Rájá brought her home to his father's house.
One day Gursan Rájá came home from hunting, very very tired and
thirsty. It was about twelve or one o'clock in the day. He asked
Kheláparí Rání to fetch him some water, and while she went for it he
fell asleep. When she came back she found him still sleeping, and
because he was so tired he slept all the afternoon and all night, and
never woke till the next morning. His wife stood by him all the time
holding the water in a brass cup. When he woke and found she had stood
there all the afternoon and all night he was very sorry, and asked God
to forgive him, and to give his wife whatever she wished for, no
matter what it might be. So Kheláparí wished that whatever happened in
any country, she might know of it at once of herself without any one
telling her, no matter how far away the country might be.
One day Kheláparí Rání went to draw water from the tank, and by the
tank sat an old man, the fakír Shekh Faríd. He said to the Rání, "Give
me a little water to drink." "I will," she said, "only drink it
quickly, for my father's house is on fire, and I am going to put it
out." "How far off is your father's country?" asked Shekh Faríd.
"About twenty miles," answered Kheláparí. "Then how can you know his
house is on fire!" said Shekh Faríd; "I have been a fakír for twelve
years, and for twelve years neither ate nor drank, and yet I do not
know what happens twenty miles away." "But I know," she answered.
"Leave your water-jar here," he said, "and go and see if the house
really is on fire, and I will not drink till you return to me."
So off went Kheláparí Rání to her father's country, and when she got
there his house was burning, and she stayed till the fire was put out,
and then returned to the tank where she left the fakír. "Is it true,"
he asked, "that your father's house was on fire?" "Quite true," she
answered. The fakír wondered. "How could she know it when the fire was
twenty miles off?" he said to himself, and he determined to go to
Gulábsá Rájá's country to see if the Rání had told him the truth.
He went by a roundabout road, as he did not know the way, so it took
him three or four days to get there. When he did, he asked some
villagers if there had been a fire at their Rájá's house. "Yes, a few
days ago there was," they answered. So the fakír, still more
astonished, decided he would go back to Hámánsá Rájá's palace and ask
Kheláparí Rání how it came to pass that she was wiser than Shekh
Faríd.
As he was returning, he met a bullock-cart laden with bags of sugar,
and he asked the driver what the bags contained. The driver was put
out because his bullocks would not go on quickly, and he was tired
with beating and goading them, so he said crossly, "It's ashes."
"Good," said Shekh Faríd, "let it be ashes." When the cartman got to
the bazar, and went to make over the sugar to the merchant who had
sent him for it, he found all his bags full of ashes, nothing but
ashes. He was in a great state of mind, for a good deal of money had
been paid for the sugar, and he was a poor man. So he went back to
Shekh Faríd and fell down at his feet, saying, "I am a poor, poor
man. My sugar is turned to ashes. Do make the ashes sugar again."
"Good," said the fakír; "go home, and you will find sugar, and next
time you are asked what you have in your cart, tell the truth and not
lies." The cartman went home, and when he saw his sugar was sugar once
more, and no longer ashes, he was very, very glad.
One of his brother-villagers thought, "How pleasant it would be to
become a fakír and do such things myself! I will go to this fakír and
learn from him to be a fakír too." So he went after Shekh Faríd and
found him walking along the road, and he followed him. Now Shekh Faríd
knew at once what this man wanted, so as they passed a heap of clay
bricks, he said, "O God, let it be thy pleasure to give me power to
turn these clay bricks into gold." Instantly they became gold, and
Shekh Faríd walked on; but the villager took up two of the bricks and
put one under each arm, and then followed the fakír. Suddenly Shekh
Faríd turned round, and said to him, "You have two clay bricks under
your arms." The man looked, saw it was true, and threw them away. Then
Shekh Faríd said to him, "You steal bricks, and yet wish to be a
fakír?" The man was ashamed, and went back to his village.
Shekh Faríd continued his journey and got to Hámánsá Rájá's country;
but when he got there he found Kheláparí had gone to another country
for a little while, so he never saw her, nor found out how it was that
she knew what happened twenty miles off.
In a jungle in Hámánsá Rájá's country he met a man, called
Fakír-achand, and his wife, who were very poor. They were going to
bury their only son, and were crying bitterly. Shekh Faríd asked them,
"Would you like your son to be alive again?" "Yes," they said. "Will
you give him to me, and I will bring him to life, and then he shall
return to you?" said Shekh Faríd. "Yes," they answered, and gave him
their dead son, and went to their home.
The fakír carried the dead boy, who was called Mohandás, a little
further on, and then laid him on the ground, and struck him with a
long thin bamboo wand he carried in his hand. The boy stood up. Shekh
Faríd asked him, "Would you like to go home to your father and mother,
or to stay with me?" "To stay with you," said Mohandás. (Had he wished
to go home, the fakír would have been very angry.) "Then," said Shekh
Faríd, "I will call your mother here." He did so, and when she came,
he said to her, "See, here is your son alive. Will you give him to me
for twelve years?" The woman said, "Yes," and went home. The fakír
gave her and her husband a quantity of rupees and built them a
beautiful house. Then he and Mohandás set out on their travels, and
wandered about the jungles for one whole year, till they came to a
country full of large splendid gardens belonging to a very rich Rájá,
called Dumkás Rájá.
This Rájá had a beautiful daughter, Champákálí Rání. She had lovely
golden hair, golden eyebrows, golden eyelashes, blue eyes, and her
skin was transparent. In Dumkás Rájá's country they had never seen a
fakír, so when Shekh Faríd and Mohandás arrived, the Rájá sent to
them, and asked Shekh Faríd to come to talk to him. "No," said the
fakír, "I will not go to the Rájá: if the Rájá wants me, he must come
to me."
Dumkás Rájá was very angry when his messengers returned with this
answer, and he ordered Shekh Faríd to leave his country immediately;
but the fakír said he would not go until he had married his adopted
son, Mohandás, to Champákálí Rání. The people all laughed at him for
saying this, and declared such a marriage would never take place.
However, the fakír and Mohandás walked about and saw the town, and
looked at everything, and everybody stared at them. Then they went to
live on the border of Dumkás Rájá's country, and lived there for some
time.
One day Shekh Faríd bought Mohandás a beautiful horse and fine clothes
such as Rájás wear, and told the boy to ride about the fields and high
roads. He also told him not to speak to any one unless they spoke to
him. Mohandás promised to do as he was bid. As he was riding along, he
met the Princess Champákálí, who was also riding. She asked him who he
was. "A Rájá's son," he said. "What Rájá?" asked Champákálí. "Never
mind what Rájá," said Mohandás. The princess then went home, and so
did Mohandás; but every day after this they met and talked together,
and the princess fell very much in love with Mohandás.
At last she said to her father, "I wish to marry a young man who rides
about on the border-land every day, and is very handsome." The Rájá
consented, for it was time his daughter was married, and now no Rájá
from another country would come to marry her, as the demons who
guarded the princess swallowed all her suitors at one gulp, and had
already swallowed many Rájás who had come on this errand.
Shekh Faríd said to Mohandás, "Now go up to the palace, and claim the
princess for your wife." "If I do," said Mohandás, "the demons will
swallow me." "I will not let them swallow you," said Shekh Faríd. So
Mohandás consented and set off for the palace, Shekh Faríd following
him. When Mohandás came to the demons, they were going to swallow him;
but the fakír, who had his sword in his hand, killed them all, and as
he did so, the Rájás and princes who had come as suitors to the
Princess Champákálí, and had therefore been swallowed by the demons,
all came jumping out of the demons' stomachs and ran off in all
directions as hard as they could, from fear not knowing where they
went.
Mohandás was greatly frightened at all this; but Shekh Faríd explained
everything to him, so he went on to the palace, and the fakír went
too. There Mohandás asked Dumkás Rájá to give him his daughter as his
wife, and the Rájá consented. So he was married to Champákálí Rání,
and her father gave them a great many elephants, and horses, and
camels, and a great deal of money and many jewels. And Mohandás and
his wife set off with the fakír to his father Fakír-achand's house,
and they took all the elephants, camels, horses, money and jewels with
them. On the way Mohandás told Champákálí Rání that he was not a great
Rájá's son, but the son of poor people. Champákálí's heart was very
sad at this; however, she was not angry, only sorry.
When they reached Hámánsá Rájá's country, and had come to
Fakír-achand's house, the fakír said to Mohandás's mother, "See, you
lent me one child, and I have brought you back two children. Does this
please you?" "Indeed it does please me," she answered; "I am very
happy."
They built a beautiful palace and all lived in it together. The mother
begged Shekh Faríd to stay with them, saying, "Only stay with us; I
will give you a bungalow, and you shall have everything you want." But
Shekh Faríd said, "I am a fakír, and so cannot stay with you, as I may
never stay in one place, and must, instead, wander from country to
country and from jungle to jungle." So he said good-bye to them and
went on his wanderings, and never returned to them.
Mohandás, his wife, and his father and mother, all lived happily
together.
Told by Dunkní.
[Decoration]
XVII.
THE MOUSE.
There was a mouse who wanted something to eat; so he went to a garden,
where many kinds of grain, and fruit, and cabbages, and other
vegetables were growing. All round the garden the people to whom it
belonged had planted a hedge of thorns, that nothing might get in. The
mouse scrambled through the hedge, but great thorns pierced his tail,
and he began to cry. He came out of the garden again through the
hedge, and on his way home he met a barber.
"You must take out these thorns," said he to the barber.
"I cannot," said the barber, "without cutting off your tail with my
razor."
"Never mind cutting off my tail," said the mouse.