There was once a Rajah who had seven wives; six of these were rich
and dwelt in his Palace, but the seventh was poor, and lived apart
in a little mud hut by herself. The Rajah had one great sorrow, and
that was that he had no children. One day he went out to shikar (or
hunt) and saw an old Fakir lying fast asleep. He did not know that
the Fakir had been asleep for twelve years; so he pressed his hands
and feet, and the old man awoke. Seeing the Rajah sitting beside him,
he thought he had been attending him for twelve years, so he said:
"What is your wish, my son?" and the Rajah said: "I have no children. I
want neither riches nor honour, but a son." Then the old Fakir gave
him his staff, and said: "Go to yonder mango tree and hit it twice,
bring away any fruit which may fall to me."
The first time the Rajah hit the tree only six mangoes fell, and the
next time only one; these he carefully carried to the old Fakir,
who told him to take them home, and give one each to the Ranees,
and they would each have a son.
So the Rajah returned to his Palace, and gave them to his six Ranees,
but quite forgot the poor Ranee, who lived apart by herself. The six
Ranees did not believe what the old man said, so they just tasted the
fruit and then threw it away; but when the poor Ranee heard what had
happened, she told her servant to go and look in the drain for any
mangoes the others had thrown away, and bring them to her; so the
servant brought them, and she carefully ate every one. Three months
afterwards she sent for an old nurse, or dhai, who told her that she
would soon be a mother.
The Rajah was passing by when he saw the old nurse coming out of the
poor Ranee's hut, so he made enquiries; and, when he heard the news,
there were great rejoicings in the Palace. This made the other six
Ranees very angry indeed, and they called the old dhai and told her
that if, when the child was born, she would promise to kill it, they
would give her a great reward. When the day came the wicked old dhai
who was in attendance on the Ranee, said: "Ranee, I must blindfold
your eyes." The Ranee consented, and while thus blindfolded, became
the mother of six sons and one daughter.
As soon as they were born, the old dhai carried them outside and
threw them into a hole in a potter's field, and there left them to
die, while she told the Ranee that she had given birth to a piece of
iron! The poor Ranee was terribly disappointed, and so was the Rajah,
but they submitted to what they thought was the will of God. But the
potter's wife found the children, and as she was childless, she carried
them home and looked well after them, so that they all lived and grew.
This came to the ears of the six Ranees, and they called the old dhai,
and said: "What is this we hear? you did not kill the children; they
are alive and living in the house of the potter, but if you listen
to us and go and kill them, we shall give you all the jewels that we
possess." So the wicked old woman made some sweet chappatis, or hand
cakes, and carried them to the well where the children used to play
every day. She found them there playing with their toy horse and toy
parrot, cheap toys made of clay by their foster-father, the potter,
and they were soon tempted to eat her sweets. No sooner had they done
this, when all seven fell down and died.
The poor potter and his wife found them thus when they came to
search for them some hours later; and, although the woman wept,
the man at once set out in search of the old Fakir, and as soon as
he found him he told him what had happened. The old Fakir cut his
finger and drew some blood: this he gave to the potter, and said:
"Go quickly and sprinkle this on the children, and they will live."
The potter did as he was told, and the children came to life again,
and went to live with their foster-parents as before. This also came
to the ears of the six cruel Ranees, and they again called the old
dhai and told her she must make another attempt to kill the children.
This time she had some difficulty in persuading them to eat her
sweets, for they remembered what had happened before; but in the end
she succeeded, and left them all lying dead on the ground as before.
The poor potter was quite broken-hearted, and again sought help of
the old Fakir. The old Fakir said: "Son, I cannot raise the children
to life in the same way a second time, but bring them here to me."
So he brought them, and the Fakir said: "Dig seven graves, and in
the centre an eighth grave for me, and bury us all." This the potter
did, and lo! after a time a mango tree sprang from the grave of each
brother, a beautiful rose from the grave of the sister, and a chumpa
or very sweet-flowering tree from the grave of the old Fakir.
One day the servants of the Rajah saw these trees, and, being struck
with the beauty of the roses, went to gather some; but as they
stretched out their hands to do so, the bough raised itself beyond
their reach and said: "Brothers, may I let them gather roses?" And the
brothers replied: "Ask the old Fakir." So they asked him, and he said:
"None but thy mother may gather roses of thee."
Much impressed by what had happened, the Rajah's servants went and told
him all they had heard and seen, and forthwith he set out to see the
trees. He too tried to gather flowers, but found he could not do so.
Then he remembered the old Fakir and the seven mangoes, and sent
at once for his six Ranees, to see if any of them could gather the
strange roses. Each tried in turn, and the tree said as before:
"Brothers, may I give roses to my mother?" The brothers replied:
"Ask the old Fakir;" but the answer was always the same: "These are
not to gather roses, they are for thy mother alone."
On this the Rajah sent for the poor, neglected Ranee, who, as we
know, was the real mother; and as soon as she came, the rose branches
spread themselves low on the ground, and she was soon covered with
beautiful flowers.
When this happened the old Fakir's grave opened, and he came back to
life, and brought the brothers and sisters with him. He told the whole
story of the six Ranees' cruelty, and the old dhai's wickedness to the
Rajah, who forthwith ordered them all to be killed, and lived happily
ever after in his Palace, with his seven children, and their mother,
the once poor, neglected Ranee.