There lived once in the Punjaub many years ago an old Seikh soldier who
had gained much renown amongst his fellow-countrymen for the many acts
of bravery he had shown in the tribal wars that in those days used
often to take place between the chieftains of the various independent
states thereabout. We all know that the Seikhs belong to a sect whose
founder was one “Nanak,” who lived in the beginning of the sixteenth
century, and that the word Seikh means in the Sanscrit language a
“disciple.”
This old soldier had for his first name the distinguished appellation
of “Bahadūr,” which in the Persian language means “brave,” so he was
brave by name as well as by nature.
At the time the incident occurred which I am now about to relate to you
all, he had retired from active service and had settled down on a small
competence for a native, in the village of Shumshabad.
In this village, as indeed may be found in many towns and villages of
Upper India, there was a little colony of blind men who subsisted on
the alms of the benevolent, and they were generally to be found near
the markets or bazaars, or along the thoroughfares leading to them.
They had moreover, a little settlement of their own situated on the
confines of the town.
One of these blind men at Shumshabad, a wizen-faced, attenuated, old
fellow, clad in poor garments, and wearing a “Kummul,” or native
blanket, thrown about him, used to sit daily by the wayside begging,
and ever in the same spot. This old blind man had the habit of calling
out in a piteous tone, “Friends have pity on the blind, and let him
only feel and handle a hundred gold mohurs and he will be made happy
for ever.”
Now, as few people who passed that way had even one coin of that value,
his wish never seemed likely to be gratified, but he made a pile of
money for all that, as the sequel of the story will show.
Bahadūr Singh used to hear this plaintive cry almost daily when he went
to the Bazaar, and being kind as well as brave, he often thought to
himself, I should much like to satisfy that old blind man’s wish, but I
suppose I shall never be able to do so, for the little I have scarce
supplies my own daily wants; so he contented himself, with others round
him, in casting a pice into the blind man’s wallet.
Months, nay years had passed by, when Bahadūr Singh had occasion to
visit a sister who resided at some little distance from Shumshabad, on
the high road to Jhelum.
Upon his return he stopped to rest near a Tank, as natives often do,
and upon the bank his eye caught sight of a small dark object, and when
he had picked it up he found it was very heavy. His curiosity was now
greatly aroused, and what was his surprise on opening it, but to
discover that it was full of gold mohurs, and when he had counted them
over, lo, and behold! there were exactly one hundred.
He was in quite a whirl of delight, and one might have thought that he
would have kept the money and not have disclosed the secret to anyone,
but as there were just the very one hundred gold mohurs that by their
feeling and handling might make the old blind man of his village happy
for ever, the first idea that entered his head was to go straight to
the spot where he knew he always asked for alms, to let him run his
fingers over them.
So without any further ado off he went, and upon reaching the old blind
man who was calling out in his usual strain; Bahadūr Singh said, “Here,
good old man, this is a lucky day for you, for I have brought you one
hundred gold mohurs to feel, and to handle, and to be happy for ever.”
Whereupon Bahadūr Singh handed the gold mohurs one by one into the old
blind man’s hand, and he handled them and put them one by one into his
wallet, repeating after every one, “Oh! you blessed and good man.” By
the time the whole hundred had been counted out a very considerable
crowd began to collect, so that Bahadūr Singh thought it better to
recover his money and be off. He then asked the old blind man to give
it back to him, but who would have thought it? the old villain set up
quite another cry, howling, and saying at the top of his voice,
“Friends, help me; help the poor blind man who is being robbed of his
little all!” And laying fast hold of Bahadūr Singh’s “dhotee” or cloth,
he made it appear as if some of his money had already been robbed from
him.
Of course the crowd took the side of the blind man, so it was all in
vain for Bahadūr Singh to try to get a hearing, and more than that, the
crowd set upon him, and would have thrashed him unmercifully had he not
made his escape, so he hurriedly left the scene and his money too.
But he was in a fearful rage, and vowed he would have his revenge, and
going by a back way to his hut (for he found he was being pursued), he
reached it unperceived.
Taking down his sword from the wall, he said to himself, “I know the
place where the blind men live, and I know too that the old blind
villain will be going home about dusk; I will lie in wait for him and
cut him down.”
Bahadūr Singh’s heart, however, began to fail him, “for,” said he, “Is
he not a blind man?” Yet the feelings of revenge had so worked him up,
that he was furious at being so cunningly deceived and robbed.
In partial hiding he took up his post by the road-side, and he had not
long to wait, for very soon the old blind villain hove in sight,
tottering along and leaning on his staff. Bahadūr Singh drew his sword
from its scabbard and looked first at it, and then at the old blind
villain who was drawing nearer and nearer to him.
In an instant the brave feelings of his nature rose uppermost, for was
he not Bahadūr? and addressing his sword, as the custom of Orientals
often is, he said, “Oh! sword! thou hast been with me in many an
honourable fight, and shall I now tarnish thy fair fame by using thee
thus? No. I ask pardon, and return you to your scabbard without a
stain.” And so saying he let the blind man pass.
But he determined upon following him, and if possible, to recover his
money; whereupon he crept stealthily behind him and close upon his
heels, and when the old blind villain arrived at his hut, Bahadūr Singh
saw him open the door, and before he had time to close and fasten it
from the inside, the brave soldier had managed to slip in too, and
quite unheard. Keeping very silent, he watched the old villain take off
his “kummul” and his wallet, and then make his way to a corner of the
hut. He there took up a tile flush with the floor, and removed from a
hole beneath it a “chattie,” or earthenware vessel, in which he was
proceeding to put in from his wallet the money he had collected during
the day. Bahadūr Singh saw his own hundred gold mohurs going in one by
one, and then overheard the old blind villain say, “I have done well to
day. I have here four hundred gold mohurs, and with this further one
hundred, I shall have five hundred gold mohurs, and who so rich as I?”
And then he carefully returned the “chattie” and put back the tile,
feeling it over and over again to be sure that it was in its right
place. He then returned to his “charpai,” or cot, and sat down,
apparently to think a bit.
[Illustration: BAHADŪR SINGH AND THE BLIND BEGGAR.]
It was now Bahadūr Singh’s turn to try his luck at recovering his
money; so moving very noiselessly, he crept to the money corner, lifted
the tile, took out the “chattie,” and was getting back to a spot he had
selected behind the “charpai,” when as ill-luck would have it, he
struck against a shelf projecting from the wall, and the noise at once
aroused the old blind villain, who rushed to the money corner, only to
find that his store had vanished. He howled, he shouted at the top of
his voice, he brandished about him his staff, smashing the water-pots,
and deluging the hut with water, and it was only by great dexterity
that Bahadūr Singh could keep behind him, and so avoid coming in
contact either with him or his staff.
In a very short time, however, there came a knock at the door, and the
old blind villain let in a stranger, who, to Bahadūr Singh’s relief,
was, he noticed, also a blind man. The stranger called out, “What is
all this noise about?” “Hai, Hai! Booh, Booh!” said the old blind
villain; all my money is gone, and I am ruined for ever.” “Your money
gone” he replied, “How can that be? Where did you put it?” “Here,
here,” he said, pulling the stranger to the money corner. “But what a
fool you were to keep it there! Why didn’t you do as I always do? When
I get enough together to make up a gold mohur I sew it up into my
turban.”
Bahadūr Singh, hearing this, at once by a quick and quiet movement
reached forward and took off the turban of the stranger and put it
aside, whereupon the stranger rushed at the old blind villain and said,
“Why did you take my turban off and where is it?” “I didn’t,” he
replied. “But you must have done so, for there is no one else here, and
you want to take my money now, do you?” So saying, he went for the old
blind villain, knocked him down on to the slushy floor, and pummelled
him until he cried hard for mercy.
Bahadūr Singh, with something like a smile at seeing his enemy
punished, then quitted the hut, leaving them to fight it out. He took
with him the “chattie” and the gold mohurs, and left the turban behind.
He went straight to the village police, told the story, claimed only
his own one hundred gold mohurs, and left with them the four hundred
belonging to the old blind villain, which were there and then
confiscated to the State.
So this old blind villain not only lost his money, but got a terrible
thrashing into the bargain, and this tale is often told in the
“Hûjrâhs,” or places of meeting of the village story-tellers, as a
capital instance of how best to retaliate, and how cleverly the biter
was bit.
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