An old couple once lived in a hut under a grove of palm trees, and they
had one son and one daughter. They were all very happy together for many
years, and then the father became very ill, and felt he was going to
die. He called his children to the place where he lay on the floor--for
no one had any beds in that country--and said to his son, ‘I have
no herds of cattle to leave you--only the few things there are in the
house--for I am a poor man, as you know. But choose: will you have my
blessing or my property?’
‘Your property, certainly,’ answered the son, and his father nodded.
‘And you?’ asked the old man of the girl, who stood by her brother.
‘I will have blessing,’ she answered, and her father gave her much
blessing.
That night he died, and his wife and son and daughter mourned for him
seven days, and gave him a burial according to the custom of his people.
But hardly was the time of mourning over, than the mother was attacked
by a disease which was common in that country.
‘I am going away from you,’ she said to her children, in a faint voice;
‘but first, my son, choose which you will have: blessing or property.’
‘Property, certainly,’ answered the son.
‘And you, my daughter?’
‘I will have blessing,’ said the girl; and her mother gave her much
blessing, and that night she died.
When the days of mourning were ended, the brother bade his sister put
outside the hut all that belonged to his father and his mother. So the
girl put them out, and he took them away, save only a small pot and a
vessel in which she could clean her corn. But she had no corn to clean.
She sat at home, sad and hungry, when a neighbour knocked at the door.
‘My pot has cracked in the fire, lend me yours to cook my supper in, and
I will give you a handful of corn in return.’
And the girl was glad, and that night she was able to have supper
herself, and next day another woman borrowed her pot, and then another
and another, for never were known so many accidents as befell the
village pots at that time. She soon grew quite fat with all the corn she
earned with the help of her pot, and then one evening she picked up a
pumpkin seed in a corner, and planted it near her well, and it sprang
up, and gave her many pumpkins.
At last it happened that a youth from her village passed through the
place where the girl’s brother was, and the two met and talked.
‘What news is there of my sister?’ asked the young man, with whom things
had gone badly, for he was idle.
‘She is fat and well-liking,’ replied the youth, ‘for the women borrow
her mortar to clean their corn, and borrow her pot to cook it in, and
for al this they give her more food than she can eat.’ And he went his
way.
Now the brother was filled with envy at the words of the man, and he set
out at once, and before dawn he had reached the hut, and saw the pot and
the mortar were standing outside. He slung them over his shoulders and
departed, pleased with his own cleverness; but when his sister awoke
and sought for the pot to cook her corn for breakfast, she could find it
nowhere. At length she said to herself,
‘Well, some thief must have stolen them while I slept. I will go and see
if any of my pumpkins are ripe.’ And indeed they were, and so many that
the tree was almost broken by the weight of them. So she ate what she
wanted and took the others to the village, and gave them in exchange for
corn, and the women said that no pumpkins were as sweet as these, and
that she was to bring every day all that she had. In this way she earned
more than she needed for herself, and soon was able to get another
mortar and cooking pot in exchange for her corn. Then she thought she
was quite rich.
Unluckily someone else thought so too, and this was her brother’s wife,
who had heard all about the pumpkin tree, and sent her slave with a
handful of grain to buy her a pumpkin. At first the girl told him that
so few were left that she could not spare any; but when she found that
he belonged to her brother, she changed her mind, and went out to the
tree and gathered the largest and the ripest that was there.
‘Take this one,’ she said to the slave, ‘and carry it back to your
mistress, but tell her to keep the corn, as the pumpkin is a gift.’
The brother’s wife was overjoyed at the sight of the fruit, and when she
tasted it, she declared it was the nicest she had ever eaten. Indeed,
all night she thought of nothing else, and early in the morning she
called another slave (for she was a rich woman) and bade him go and ask
for another pumpkin. But the girl, who had just been out to look at her
tree, told him that they were all eaten, so he went back empty-handed to
his mistress.
In the evening her husband returned from hunting a long way off, and
found his wife in tears.
‘What is the matter?’ asked he.
‘I sent a slave with some grain to your sister to buy some pumpkins, but
she would not sell me any, and told me there were none, though I know
she lets other people buy them.’
‘Well, never mind now--go to sleep,’ said he, ‘and to-morrow I will go
and pull up the pumpkin tree, and that will punish her for treating you
so badly.’
So before sunrise he got up and set out for his sister’s house, and
found her cleaning some corn.
‘Why did you refuse to sell my wife a pumpkin yesterday when she wanted
one?’ he asked.
‘The old ones are finished, and the new ones are not yet come,’ answered
the girl. ‘When her slave arrived two days ago, there were only four
left; but I gave him one, and would take no corn for it.’
‘I do not believe you; you have sold them all to other people. I shall
go and cut down the pumpkin,’ cried her brother in a rage.
‘If you cut down the pumpkin you shall cut off my hand with it,’
exclaimed the girl, running up to her tree and catching hold of it. But
her brother followed, and with one blow cut off the pumpkin and her hand
too.
Then he went into the house and took away everything he could find, and
sold the house to a friend of his who had long wished to have it, and
his sister had no home to go to.
Meanwhile she had bathed her arm carefully, and bound on it some healing
leaves that grew near by, and wrapped a cloth round the leaves, and went
to hide in the forest, that her brother might not find her again.
For seven days she wandered about, eating only the fruit that hung from
the trees above her, and every night she climbed up and tucked herself
safely among the creepers which bound together the big branches, so that
neither lions nor tigers nor panthers might get at her.
When she woke up on the seventh morning she saw from her perch smoke
coming up from a little town on the edge of the forest. The sight of
the huts made her feel more lonely and helpless than before. She longed
desperately for a draught of milk from a gourd, for there were no
streams in that part, and she was very thirsty, but how was she to earn
anything with only one hand? And at this thought her courage failed, and
she began to cry bitterly.
It happened that the king’s son had come out from the town very early to
shoot birds, and when the sun grew hot he left tired.
‘I will lie here and rest under this tree,’ he said to his attendants.
‘You can go and shoot instead, and I will just have this slave to stay
with me!’ Away they went, and the young man fell asleep, and slept long.
Suddenly he was awakened by something wet and salt falling on his face.
‘What is that? Is it raining?’ he said to his slave. ‘Go and look.’
‘No, master, it is not raining,’ answered the slave.
‘Then climb up the tree and see what it is,’ and the slave climbed up,
and came back and told his master that a beautiful girl was sitting up
there, and that it must have been her tears which had fallen on the face
of the king’s son.
‘Why was she crying?’ inquired the prince.
‘I cannot tell--I did not dare to ask her; but perhaps she would tell
you.’ And the master, greatly wondering, climbed up the tree.
‘What is the matter with you?’ said he gently, and, as she only sobbed
louder, he continued:
‘Are you a woman, or a spirit of the woods?’
‘I am a woman,’ she answered slowly, wiping her eyes with a leaf of the
creeper that hung about her.
‘Then why do you cry?’ he persisted.
‘I have many things to cry for,’ she replied, ‘more than you could ever
guess.’
‘Come home with me,’ said the prince; ‘it is not very far. Come home to
my father and mother. I am a king’s son.’
‘Then why are you here?’ she said, opening her eyes and staring at him.
‘Once every month I and my friends shoot birds in the forest,’ he
answered, ‘but I was tired and bade them leave me to rest. And you--what
are you doing up in this tree?’
At that she began to cry again, and told the king’s son all that had
befallen her since the death of her mother.
‘I cannot come down with you, for I do not like anyone to see me,’ she
ended with a sob.
‘Oh! I will manage all that,’ said the king’s son, and swinging himself
to a lower branch, he bade his slave go quickly into the town, and bring
back with him four strong men and a curtained litter. When the man
was gone, the girl climbed down, and hid herself on the ground in some
bushes. Very soon the slave returned with the litter, which was placed
on the ground close to the bushes where the girl lay.
‘Now go, all of you, and call my attendants, for I do not wish to say
here any longer,’ he said to the men, and as soon as they were out of
sight he bade the girl get into the litter, and fasten the curtains
tightly. Then he got in on the other side, and waited till his
attendants came up.
‘What is the matter, O son of a king?’ asked they, breathless with
running.
‘I think I am ill; I am cold,’ he said, and signing to the bearers, he
drew the curtains, and was carried through the forest right inside his
own house.
‘Tell my father and mother that I have a fever, and want some gruel,’
said he, ‘and bid them send it quickly.’
So the slave hastened to the king’s palace and gave his message, which
troubled both the king and the queen greatly. A pot of hot gruel was
instantly prepared, and carried over to the sick man, and as soon as the
council which was sitting was over, the king and his ministers went to
pay him a visit, bearing a message from the queen that she would follow
a little later.
Now the prince had pretended to be ill in order to soften his parent’s
hearts, and the next day he declared he felt better, and, getting into
his litter, was carried to the palace in state, drums being beaten all
along the road.
He dismounted at the foot of the steps and walked up, a great parasol
being held over his head by a slave. Then he entered the cool, dark room
where his father and mother were sitting, and said to them:
‘I saw a girl yesterday in the forest whom I wish to marry, and, unknown
to my attendants, I brought her back to my house in a litter. Give me
your consent, I beg, for no other woman pleases me as well, even though
she has but one hand!’
Of course the king and queen would have preferred a daughter-in-law
with two hands, and one who could have brought riches with her, but they
could not bear to say ‘No’ to their son, so they told him it should be
as he chose, and that the wedding feast should be prepared immediately.
The girl could scarcely believe her good fortune, and, in gratitude for
all the kindness shown her, was so useful and pleasant to her husband’s
parents that they soon loved her.
By and bye a baby was born to her, and soon after that the prince was
sent on a journey by his father to visit some of the distant towns of
the kingdom, and to set right things that had gone wrong.
No sooner had he started than the girl’s brother, who had wasted all the
riches his wife had brought him in recklessness and folly, and was now
very poor, chanced to come into the town, and as he passed he heard a
man say, ‘Do you know that the king’s son has married a woman who has
lost one of her hands?’ On hearing these words the brother stopped and
asked, ‘Where did he find such a woman?’
‘In the forest,’ answered the man, and the cruel brother guessed at once
it must be his sister.
A great rage took possession of his soul as he thought of the girl whom
he had tried to ruin being after all so much better off than himself,
and he vowed that he would work her ill. Therefore that very afternoon
he made his way to the palace and asked to see the king.
When he was admitted to his presence, he knelt down and touched the
ground with his forehead, and the king bade him stand up and tell
wherefore he had come.
‘By the kindness of your heart have you been deceived, O king,’ said he.
‘Your son has married a girl who has lost a hand. Do you know why she
had lost it? She was a witch, and has wedded three husbands, and each
husband she has put to death with her arts. Then the people of the town
cut off her hand, and turned her into the forest. And what I say is
true, for her town is my town also.’
The king listened, and his face grew dark. Unluckily he had a hasty
temper, and did not stop to reason, and, instead of sending to the town,
and discovering people who knew his daughter-in-law and could have told
him how hard she had worked and how poor she had been, he believed all
the brother’s lying words, and made the queen believe them too. Together
they took counsel what they should do, and in the end they decided that
they also would put her out of the town. But this did not content the
brother.
‘Kill her,’ he said. ‘It is no more than she deserves for daring to
marry the king’s son. Then she can do no more hurt to anyone.’
‘We cannot kill her,’ answered they; ‘if we did, our son would assuredly
kill us. Let us do as the others did, and put her out of the town. And
with this the envious brother was forced to be content.
The poor girl loved her husband very much, but just then the baby was
more to her than all else in the world, and as long as she had him with
her, she did not very much mind anything. So, taking her son on her arm,
and hanging a little earthen pot for cooking round her neck, she left
her house with its great peacock fans and slaves and seats of ivory, and
plunged into the forest.
For a while she walked, not knowing whither she went, then by and bye
she grew tired, and sat under a tree to rest and to hush her baby to
sleep. Suddenly she raised her eyes, and saw a snake wriggling from
under the bushes towards her.
‘I am a dead woman,’ she said to herself, and stayed quite still, for
indeed she was too frightened to move. In another minute the snake had
reached her side, and to her surprise he spoke.
‘Open your earthen pot, and let me go in. Save me from sun, and I will
save you from rain,’ and she opened the pot, and when the snake had
slipped in, she put on the cover. Soon she beheld another snake coming
after the other one, and when it had reached her it stopped and said,
‘Did you see a small grey snake pass this way just now?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘it was going very quickly.’
‘Ah, I must hurry and catch it up,’ replied the second snake, and it
hastened on.
When it was out of sight, a voice from the pot said:
‘Uncover me,’ and she lifted the lid, and the little grey snake slid
rapidly to the ground.
‘I am safe now,’ he said. ‘But tell me, where are you going?’
‘I cannot tell you, for I do not know,’ she answered. ‘I am just
wandering in the wood.’
‘Follow me, and let us go home together,’ said the snake, and the girl
followed his through the forest and along the green paths, till they
came to a great lake, where they stopped to rest.
‘The sun is hot,’ said the snake, ‘and you have walked far. Take your
baby and bathe in that cool place where the boughs of the tree stretch
far over the water.’
‘Yes, I will,’ answered she, and they went in. The baby splashed and
crowed with delight, and then he gave a spring and fell right in, down,
down, down, and his mother could not find him, though she searched all
among the reeds.
Full of terror, she made her way back to the bank, and called to the
snake, ‘My baby is gone!--he is drowned, and never shall I see him
again.’
‘Go in once more,’ said the snake, ‘and feel everywhere, even among the
trees that have their roots in the water, lest perhaps he may be held
fast there.’
Swiftly she went back and felt everywhere with her whole hand, even
putting her fingers into the tiniest crannies, where a crab could hardly
have taken shelter.
‘No, he is not here,’ she cried. ‘How am I to live without him?’ But the
snake took no notice, and only answered, ‘Put in your other arm too.’
‘What is the use of that?’ she asked, ‘when it has no hand to feel
with?’ but all the same she did as she was bid, and in an instant the
wounded arm touched something round and soft, lying between two stones
in a clump of reeds.
‘My baby, my baby!’ she shouted, and lifted him up, merry and laughing,
and not a bit hurt or frightened.
‘Have you found him this time?’ asked the snake.
‘Yes, oh, yes!’ she answered, ‘and, why--why--I have got my hand back
again!’ and from sheer joy she burst into tears.