In a certain village in the Punjâb there lived a long while ago, a very
charitable old Mahomedan of the name of “Sakhi,” which being interpreted
from the Arabic tongue means “liberal.” This faithful and patient old
Mussulman was famed through all the country round for his repeated deeds
of charity, and he was visited by many mendicant folk, who profited not
a little from his kindness and hospitality.
The result of all this almsgiving was that in the end, he himself became
very poor, or as the native translation more nearly renders it, he
“became as dry as a fish baked in the sun.”
One day, as the tale goes, two Fakirs, “Kallundars,” or begging monks as
they are sometimes called, were on their way to Mecca to perform that
pilgrimage which is obligatory on every devout Moslem once in his life,
and on their way thither they had to pass through the village in which
“Sakhi” resided, so they made up their minds to pay him a visit, and
obtain his blessing on their journey.
As they entered the village they accosted the first man they met, and
asked him to direct them to the house of the famous “Sakhi.” This man,
who was no other than “Sakhi” himself, replied, “The name of names is
the name of Allah, and I am named ‘Sakhi.’” Whereupon, according to his
custom, he invited them to his abode, and when they entered it they were
at once struck with the signs of poverty that were to be seen on every
side; the hut, for such it literally was, was almost devoid of
furniture, and the place was quite comfortless.
“Sakhi’s” wife rose at their entrance, and he then told her, under a
breath, to set food before the travellers, but she replied “You have
given all your substance away and nothing is left. ‘Kyâ Kuren!’ she
said, or what is to be done?” “Sakhi” replied, “These are holy men and
must be entertained, so pray borrow of our neighbours.” “Sakhi” then
followed his wife for a brief period, which gave time for the travellers
to say one to another, “How poor he is; and though we are hungry let us
eat sparingly, and leave some on the dish for him and his family.”
Meanwhile the wife had procured some “ātā,” or flour, and in a short
time placed before them some “chapāties,” or thin cakes, and they all
began to eat, and “Sakhi’s” daughter had a portion taken to her.
After they had all eaten, the travellers rose to go, and with many
salaams, and wishing peace and safety to the house, they were just on
the point of starting when “Sakhi” said, “I must go with you a little
way to put you on the right road, for there are many cattle tracks about
the village, and you might miss your way.” So saying he accompanied them
very nearly to the main road, when they finally bid him “adieu,”
wondering most of all that though he was so very poor he seemed to be so
happy and contented.
[Illustration: SAKHI, THE GENEROUS MOSLEM.]
“Sakhi” now turned to go back, when to his astonishment he saw a column
of smoke ascending from the village, and he quickened his pace, when he
met a man running to tell him that his hut had been burnt down, and that
both his wife and daughter had perished in the flames.
“Sakhi” on reaching the spot, found this to be only too true, and when
he could safely venture near, he saw to his horror, only their charred
remains, and at once cried out “It is the will of Allah; he is One, and
Mahomed is his prophet. I shall leave this place and go into the City,
and seek service under the King.” So off he went on his journey feeling
much distressed, but confident that something good would turn up. His
way lay through a rather dense jungle where there were in some parts of
it, patches of very high grass. In one of these he thought he would rest
himself, and as it was time for the mid-day prayer, he performed his
regular devotions, and holding out his hands as usual to receive the
blessing, he spoke out rather more audibly than he was wont to do, when
to his utter amazement he heard a voice calling out, “Rescue us, save us
from this misery!” He then groped about in the long grass, and
discovered that the sound came from a deep, dry well, and looking down
he saw a man in great trouble, who must have fallen in by accident he
thought, and then peering closer he descried also a jackal and a snake.
The jackal roared out, “Take me out of this place, and take out the
snake, but do not take out this bad man.” “Sakhi” replied with the usual
generosity of his nature, “No, if I take out one I shall take you all
out.” So saying, he undid his “kummerbund,” or waistband, and finding
that it was not long enough to reach to the bottom of the well, he bent
his turban on to it, and lowered it down, telling the man to tie his
turban on to it also. By this little contrivance he managed to get them
all up to the surface in safety. The snake to evince its gratitude,
vomited from its mouth a small lump of gold, which Indian snake-charmers
quite believe that certain snakes can do; and asking “Sakhi” to follow
him, he shewed him some wonderful herbs that would cure most of the ills
that flesh is heir to, and which no man was yet acquainted with.
[Illustration: SAKHI, THE GENEROUS MOSLEM.]
On his return to the well, the jackal expressed his thanks for his
deliverance by saying that whenever “Sakhi” was in trouble, if he
thought of him, he would come to his relief; “but beware,” he said, “of
the man, for he will get you into distress.” The man was not much
concerned about thanking “Sakhi,” but as he was very weak and faint
“Sakhi” felt for him, and they journeyed on together very leisurely.
“Sakhi” found out that he was going to the same city that he had set out
for, and that he was in very truth the son of the King. When they neared
the city, the Prince said, for such he was of course, “Give me that
piece of gold I entrusted to your charge.” “Sakhi” replied, “You never
gave me any gold, and how can I return to you what I never received?”
“We will see about that,” said the Prince, and they had no sooner
entered the streets than the Prince, who was at once recognised by the
people, called out to one of the “Burkandâzis” or armed Police, “Seize
this man and search him for a piece of gold he has robbed from me.” This
they did, the gold was found upon him, and “Sakhi” was taken before the
executive, found guilty, and sentenced to the torture peculiar to that
country.
This punishment consisted in stripping the body, and placing over it the
skin of a newly killed heifer, the head only of the victim being
exposed. The prisoner was then put into the hot sun so that the skin
might dry upon his flesh and gradually eat into it. “Sakhi” was so
treated, and bore all his pains with patience, and recited to himself
for his comfort, portions of the Koran which he had committed to memory.
He was daily under the charge of a guard, whose duty it was to take him
to and from his prison-house, and to watch over him during the day. One
day “Sakhi” observed that the sentry was muttering to himself, and
apparently in grief, so “Sakhi” asked him what was the matter, and he
replied, “Our King is very ill, and none of the doctors can cure him.”
“Oh,” said “Sakhi,” “I am a medicine man, and I can cure the King, I do
not doubt.” This news soon reached the ears of the people about the
Court, and “Sakhi” was taken before the Vizier, and there repeated what
he had said to the sentry.
The Vizier ordered that the skin should be taken off “Sakhi” which
caused him much physical pain, and indeed could only partially be
removed. “Sakhi” was then put into clothes again, and leave was given
him to prepare his remedies. “Sakhi” then went at once into the jungle,
procured the herbs pointed out to him by the snake, and made from them a
draught which he gave to the King. The King believed in his skill,
continued to follow the treatment, and in a very short time he became
quite cured of the disease from which he was suffering. “Now,” said the
King to “Sakhi,” “you have been the means of restoring me to health, and
as I made an oath at the point of death, that whoever cured me should
have my daughter in marriage, and be possessor of half of my kingdom, so
now I shall proceed to keep my word.” The King accordingly commanded
that the proper document should be made out, and upon a fortunate day
being fixed by the astrologers, the royal marriage was celebrated with
every pomp and display. So the poor and patient “Sakhi” was thus greatly
rewarded and enriched.
But he was not spoilt by splendour, for he never neglected as the proper
hours came round, to say his prayers five times a day, as the custom is
of every devout Mahomedan.
The morning prayer was said at the river side, near the Palace, where he
prostrated himself in worship on an open green sward.
One morning, the jackal whom he had rescued from the well came to him
with a beautiful flower in its mouth, and he said to “Sakhi,” “Take this
flower; I found it on this green bank after five Fakirs, or ‘Panj Pir,’
had been worshipping here. It has a most fragrant smell, but one thing I
must tell you: let no one know you possess it.” So “Sakhi” thanked the
jackal, tied the flower in his waistcloth, and went home.
The perfume of the flower was so strong that his wife at once perceived
it, and asked what he had about him that smelt so sweet. “Sakhi” for a
long time evaded the question, for he had in his mind the warning of the
jackal, but at last, in a weak moment, he drew it from his waistbelt and
handed it to his wife, saying, “I have yielded to your entreaties, but
you must tell no one else about it.” One day her mother came to visit
her, as she often did, and by some accident “Sakhi’s” wife dropped the
flower on the floor, which her mother picked up unperceived, and took
away with her, when it at once dried up. The wife had no sooner lost the
flower than she became depressed and like a mad thing, and at last told
“Sakhi” that she should die unless it could be recovered; so distressed
indeed was she, that she quite worried him out of his life. “Sakhi,” one
morning when he was at his usual place of prayer by the riverside,
thought of the jackal, and he was not long before he made his
appearance. He then told him all about the flower, and what misery and
suffering it had brought upon his wife since the day she had lost it.
The jackal remonstrated, and said he could not get another, for it was
left on the bank by the five holy men who had never been seen again, but
he felt sure that there was some talisman about it. “Sakhi” said, “Oh!
If you could only tell me whither they went, so that I might follow them
and get them to take the spell off my wife!” The jackal replied, “They
dived into that deep pit in the river, that I am sure of, and never rose
again.”
Then “Sakhi” bethought him that he would also dive in there at the same
spot, and see what fate and fortune might have in store for him.
Thereupon he made a plunge from the bank, and oh! wonder of wonders! He
found himself in a glorious place, and mid bowers of bliss, and precious
stones shining in every direction, so that he was quite bewildered. This
was indeed to him rapture and enjoyment, and while he was trying to
collect himself, he felt a touch from someone near, and he recognized
the voice of the daughter he had lost in the fire, who welcomed him with
all affection, saying, “Mother also is here; I will go and call her.”
So “Sakhi” felt that this was true happiness indeed, to be in such a
place with his first wife and daughter, and he decided to remain where
he was, and which he now knew must in very truth be the Paradise of
Mahomed. Never more did he wish to return to earth again, to be worried
by his second wife who was under the spell of that enchanted flower.
And so ends the Story of “Sakhi the Generous,” and may we all learn to
bear our troubles with the same patience and resignation that “Sakhi”
did.
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