'The old wife was dyed--
The nasty old cat!
And I, the gay bride,
Fell into the vat!'
Whereupon the cock-sparrow took her up tenderly in his bill, and flew
away home with his precious burden. Now, just as he was crossing the
big river in front of his house, the old hen-sparrow, in her gay
dress, looked out of the window, and when she saw her old husband
bringing home his young bride in such a sorry plight, she burst out
laughing shrilly, and called aloud, 'That is right! that is right!
Remember what the song says--
'Old wives must scramble through water and mud,
But young wives are carried dry-shod o'er the flood.'
This allusion so enraged her husband that he could not contain
himself, but cried out,' Hold your tongue, you shameless old cat!'
Of course, when he opened his mouth to speak, the poor draggled bride
fell out, and going plump into the river, was drowned. Whereupon the
cock-sparrow was so distracted with grief that he picked off all his
feathers until he was as bare as a ploughed field. Then, going to a
_pîpal_ tree, he sat all naked and forlorn on the branches,
sobbing and sighing.
'What has happened?' cried the _pîpal_ tree, aghast at the sight.
'Don't ask me!' wailed the cock-sparrow; 'it isn't manners to ask
questions when a body is in deep mourning.'
But the _pîpal_ would not be satisfied without an answer, so at
last poor bereaved cock-sparrow replied--
'The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair!'
On hearing this sad tale, the _pîpal_ became overwhelmed with
grief, and declaring it must mourn also, shed all its leaves on the
spot.
By and by a buffalo, coming in the heat of the day to rest in the
shade of the _pîpal_ tree, was astonished to find nothing but
bare twigs.
'What has happened?' cried the buffalo; 'you were as green as possible
yesterday!'
'Don't ask me!' whimpered the _pîpal_. 'Where are your manners?
Don't you know it isn't decent to ask questions when people are in
mourning?'
But the buffalo insisted on having an answer, so at last, with many
sobs and sighs, the _pîpal_ replied--
'The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Bewailing his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The _pîpal_ tree grieves
By shedding its leaves!'
'Oh dear me!' cried the buffalo, 'how very sad! I really must mourn
too!' So she immediately cast her horns, and began to weep and wail.
After a while, becoming thirsty, she went to drink at the river-side.
'Goodness gracious!' cried the river, 'what is the matter? and what
have you done with your horns?'
'How rude you are!' wept the buffalo. 'Can't you see I am in deep
mourning? and it isn't polite to ask questions.'
But the river persisted, until the buffalo, with many groans,
replied--
'The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The _pîpal_ tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns!'
'Dreadful!' cried the river, and wept so fast that its water became
quite salt.
By and by a cuckoo, coming to bathe in the stream, called out, 'Why,
river! what has happened? You are as salt as tears!'
'Don't ask me!' mourned the stream; 'it is too dreadful for words!'
Nevertheless, when the cuckoo would take no denial, the river
replied--
'The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The _pîpal_ tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last!'
'Oh dear! oh dear me!' cried the cuckoo, 'how very very sad! I must
mourn too!' So it plucked out an eye, and going to a corn-merchant's
shop, sat on the doorstep and wept.
'Why, little cuckoo! what's the matter?' cried Bhagtu the shopkeeper.
'You are generally the pertest of birds, and to-day you are as dull
as ditchwater!'
'Don't ask me!' snivelled the cuckoo; 'it is such terrible grief! such
dreadful sorrow! such--such horrible pain!'
However, when Bhagtu persisted, the cuckoo, wiping its one eye on its
wing, replied--
'The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The _pîpal_ tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last;
The cuckoo with sighs
Blinds one of its eyes!'
'Bless my heart!' cried Bhagtu,'but that is simply the most
heartrending tale I ever heard in my life! I must really mourn
likewise!' Whereupon he wept, and wailed, and beat his breast, until
he went completely out of his mind; and when the Queen's maidservant
came to buy of him, he gave her pepper instead of turmeric, onion
instead of garlic, and wheat instead of pulse.
'Dear me, friend Bhagtu!' quoth the maid-* servant, 'your wits are
wool-gathering! What's the matter?'
'Don't! please don't!' cried Bhagtu; 'I wish you wouldn't ask me, for
I am trying to forget all about it. It is too dreadful--too too
terrible!'
At last, however, yielding to the maid's entreaties, he replied, with
many sobs and tears--
'The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The _pîpal_ tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last;
The cuckoo with sighs
Blinds one of its eyes;
Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
He loses his senses!'
'How very sad!' exclaimed the maidservant. 'I don't wonder at your
distress; but it is always so in this miserable world!--everything
goes wrong!'
Whereupon she fell to railing at everybody and everything in the
world, until the Queen said to her, 'What is the matter, my child?
What distresses you?'
'Oh!' replied the maidservant, 'the old story! every one is miserable,
and I most of all! Such dreadful news!--
'The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The _pîpal_ tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last;
The cuckoo with sighs
Blinds one of its eyes;
Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
He loses his senses;
The maidservant wailing
Has taken to railing!'
'Too true!' wept the Queen, 'too true! The world is a vale of tears!
There is nothing for it but to try and forget!' Whereupon she set to
work dancing away as hard as she could.
By and by in came the Prince, who, seeing her twirling about, said,
'Why, mother! what is the matter?'