_TRUTH'S TRIUMPH._
Several hundred years ago there was a certain Rajah who had twelve
wives, but no children, and though he caused many prayers to be said,
and presents made in temples far and near, never a son nor a daughter
had he. Now this Rajah had a Wuzeer who was a very, very wise old man,
and it came to pass that one day, when he was traveling in a distant
part of his kingdom, accompanied by this Wuzeer and the rest of his
court, he came upon a large garden, in walking round which he was
particularly struck by a little tree which grew there. It was a
bringal[41] tree, not above two feet in height. It had no leaves, but
on it grew a hundred and one bringals. The Rajah stopped to count
them, and then turning to the Wuzeer in great astonishment, said, "It
is to me a most unaccountable thing, that this little tree should have
no leaves, but a hundred and one bringals growing on it. You are a
wise man--can you guess what this means?" The Wuzeer replied, "I can
interpret this marvel to you, but if I do, you will most likely not
believe me; promise therefore that if I tell you, you will not cause
me to be killed as having told (as you imagine) a lie." The Rajah
promised, and the Wuzeer continued: "The meaning of this little
bringal tree, with the hundred and one bringals growing on it, is
this. Whoever marries the daughter of the Malee in charge of this
garden will have a hundred and one children--a hundred sons and one
daughter." The Rajah said, "Where is the maiden to be seen?" The
Wuzeer answered, "When a number of great people like you and all your
court come into a little village like this, the poor people, and
especially the children, are frightened and run away and hide
themselves; therefore, as long as you stay here as Rajah you cannot
hope to see her. Your only means will be to send away your suite, and
cause it be announced that you have left the place. Then, if you walk
daily in this garden, you may some morning meet the pretty Guzra
Bai,[42] of whom I speak."
[41] _Solanum molengena_--the egg-shaped fruit of which is a
favorite vegetable all over India.
[42] Flower Girl.
Upon this advice the Rajah acted; and one day whilst walking in the
garden he saw the Malee's young daughter, a girl of twelve years old,
busy gathering flowers. He went forward to accost her, but she, seeing
that he was not one of the villagers, but a stranger, was shy, and ran
home to her father's house.
The Rajah followed, for he was very much struck with her grace and
beauty; in fact, he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her, and
thought he had never seen a king's daughter half so charming.
When he got to the Malee's house the door was shut; so he called out,
"Let me in, good Malee; I am the Rajah, and I wish to marry your
daughter." The Malee only laughed, and answered, "A pretty tale to
tell a simple man, indeed! You a Rajah! why the Rajah is miles away.
You had better go home, my good fellow, for there's no welcome for you
here!" But the Rajah continued calling till the Malee opened the door;
who then was indeed surprised, seeing it was truly no other than the
Rajah, and he asked what he could do for him.
The Rajah said, "I wish to marry your beautiful daughter, Guzra Bai."
"No, no," said the Malee, "this joke won't do. None of your Princes in
disguise for me. You may think you are a great Rajah and I only a poor
Malee, but I tell you that makes no difference at all to me. Though
you were king of all the earth, I would not permit you to come here
and amuse yourself chattering to my girl, only to fill her head with
nonsense, and to break her heart."
"In truth, good man, you do me wrong," answered the Rajah, humbly: "I
mean what I say; I wish to marry your daughter."
"Do not think," retorted the Malee, "that I'll make a fool of myself
because I'm only a Malee, and believe what you've got to say, because
you're a great Rajah. Rajah or no Rajah is all one to me. If you mean
what you say, if you care for my daughter and wish to be married to
her, come and be married; but I'll have none of your new-fangled forms
and court ceremonies hard to be understood; let the girl be married by
her father's hearth and under her father's roof, and let us invite to
the wedding our old friends and acquaintance whom we've known all our
lives, and before we ever thought of you."
The Rajah was not angry, but amused, and rather pleased than otherwise
at the old man's frankness, and he consented to all that was desired.
The village beauty, Guzra Bai, was therefore married with as much
pomp as they could muster, but in village fashion, to the great Rajah,
who took her home with him, followed by the tears and blessings of her
parents and playmates.
The twelve kings' daughters were by no means pleased at this addition
to the number of the Ranees; and they agreed amongst themselves that
it would be highly derogatory to their dignity to permit Guzra Bai to
associate with them, and that the Rajah, their husband, had offered
them an unpardonable insult in marrying a Malee's daughter, which was
to be revenged upon her the very first opportunity.
Having made this league, they tormented poor Guzra Bai so much that to
save her from their persecutions, the Rajah built her a little house
of her own, where she lived very, very happily for a short time.
At last one day he had occasion to go and visit a distant part of his
dominions, but fearing his high-born wives might ill-use Guzra Bai in
his absence, at parting he gave her a little golden bell,[43] saying,
"If while I am away you are in any trouble, or any one should be
unkind to you, ring this little bell, and wherever I am I shall
instantly hear it, and will return to your aid."
[43] "It must have been a kind of telegraph to go so quick," my
Narrator said.
No sooner had the Rajah gone, than Guzra Bai thought she would try the
power of the bell. So she rang it. The Rajah instantly appeared. "What
do you want?" he said. "Oh, nothing," she replied. "I was foolish. I
could hardly believe what you told me could be true, and thought I
would try." "Now you will believe, I hope," he said, and went away. A
second time she rang the bell. Again the Rajah returned. "Oh, pardon
me, husband," she said; "it was wrong of me not to trust you, but I
hardly thought you could return again from so far." "Never mind," he
said, "only do not try the experiment again." And again he went away.
A third time she rang the golden bell. "Why do you ring again, Guzra
Bai?" asked the Rajah sternly, as for a third time he returned. "I
don't know, indeed; indeed I beg your pardon," she said; "but I know
not why, I felt so frightened." "Have any of the Ranees been unkind to
you?" he asked. "No, none," she answered; "in fact, I have seen none
of them." "You are a silly child," said he, stroking her hair.
"Affairs of the state call me away. You must try and keep a good heart
till my return;" and for the fourth time he disappeared.
A little while after this, wonderful to relate, Guzra Bai had a
hundred and one children!--a hundred boys and one girl. When the
Ranees heard this, they said to each other, "Guzra Bai, the Malee's
daughter, will rank higher than us; she will have great power and
influence as mother to the heir to the Raj;[44] let us kill these
children, and tell our husband that she is a sorceress; then will he
love her no longer, and his old affection for us will return." So
these twelve wicked Ranees all went over to Guzra Bai's house. When
Guzra Bai saw them coming, she feared they meant to do her some harm,
so she seized her little golden bell, and rang, and rang, and
rang--but no Rajah came. She had called him back so often that he did
not believe she really needed his help. And thus the poor woman was
left to the mercy of her implacable enemies.
[44] Kingdom.
Now the nurse who had charge of the hundred and one babies was an old
servant of the twelve Ranees, and moreover a very wicked woman, able
and willing to do whatever her twelve wicked old mistresses ordered.
So when they said to her, "Can you kill these children?" she answered,
"Nothing is easier; I will throw them out upon the dust-heap behind
the palace, where the rats and hawks and vultures will have left none
of them remaining by to-morrow morning." "So be it," said the Ranees.
Then the nurse took the hundred and one little innocent children--the
hundred little boys and the one little girl--and threw them behind the
palace on the dust-heap, close to some large rat-holes; and after
that, she and the twelve Ranees placed a very large stone in each of
the babies' cradles, and said to Guzra Bai, "Oh, you evil witch in
disguise, do not hope any longer to impose by your arts on the Rajah's
credulity. See, your children have all turned into stones. See these,
your pretty babies!"--and with that they tumbled the hundred and one
stones down in a great heap on the floor. Then Guzra Bai began to cry,
for she knew it was not true; but what could one poor woman do against
thirteen? At the Rajah's return the twelve Ranees accused Guzra Bai of
being a witch, and the nurse testified that the hundred and one
children she had charge of had turned into stones, and the Rajah
believed them rather than Guzra Bai, and he ordered her to be
imprisoned for life.
Meanwhile a Bandicote[45] had heard the pitiful cries of the
children, and taking pity on them, dragged them all, one by one, into
her hole, out of the way of kites and vultures. She then assembled all
the Bandicotes from far and near, and told them what she had done,
begging them to assist in finding food for the children. Then every
day a hundred and one Bandicotes would come, each bringing a little
bit of food in his mouth, and give it to one of the children; and so
day by day they grew stronger and stronger, until they were able to
run about, and then they used to play of a morning at the mouth of the
Bandicote's hole, running in there to sleep every night. But one fine
day who should come by but the wicked old nurse! Fortunately, all the
boys were in the hole, and the little girl, who was playing outside,
on seeing her ran in there too, but not before the nurse had seen her.
She immediately went to the twelve Ranees and related this, saying, "I
cannot help thinking some of the children may still be living in those
rat-holes. You had better send and have them dug out and killed." "We
dare not do that," answered they, "for fear of causing suspicion; but
we will order some laborers to dig up that ground and make it into a
field, and that will effectually smother any of the children who may
still be alive." This plan was approved and forthwith carried into
execution; but the good Bandicote, who happened that day to be out on
a foraging expedition in the palace, heard all about it there, and
immediately running home, took all the children from her hole to a
large well some distance off, where she hid them in the hollows behind
the steps leading down to the well, laying one child under each step.
[45] A species of large rat.
Here they would have been quite safe, had not the Dhobee[46] happened
to go down to the well that day to wash some clothes, taking with him
his little girl. While her father was drawing up water, the child
amused herself running up and down the steps of the well. Now each
time her weight pressed down a step it gave the child hidden
underneath a little squeeze. All the hundred boys bore this without
uttering a sound; but when the Dhobee's child trod on the step under
which the little girl was hidden, she cried out, "How can you be so
cruel to me, trampling on me in this way? Have pity on me, for I am a
little girl as well as you."
[46] Washerman.
When the child heard these words proceeding from the stone, she ran in
great alarm to her father, saying, "Father, I don't know what's the
matter, but something alive is certainly under those stones. I heard
it speak; but whether it is a Rakshas or an angel or a human being I
cannot tell." Then the Dhobee went to the twelve Ranees to tell them
the wonderful news about the voice in the well; and they said to each
other, "Maybe it's some of Guzra Bai's children; let us send and have
this inquired into." So they sent some people to pull down the well
and see if some evil spirits were not there.
Then laborers went to pull down the well. Now close to the well was a
little temple dedicated to Gunputti, containing a small shrine and a
little clay image of the god. When the children felt the well being
pulled down they called out for help and protection to Gunputti, who
took pity on them and changed them into trees growing by his temple--a
hundred little mango trees all round in a circle (which were the
hundred little boys), and a little rose bush in the middle, covered
with red and white roses, which was the little girl.
The laborers pulled down the well, but they found nothing there but a
poor old Bandicote, which they killed. Then, by order of the twelve
wicked Ranees, they sacrilegiously destroyed the little temple. But
they found no children there either. However, the Dhobee's mischievous
little daughter had gone with her father to witness the work of
destruction, and as they were looking on, she said, "Father, do look
at all those funny little trees; I never remember noticing them here
before." And being very inquisitive, she started off to have a nearer
look at them. There in a circle grew the hundred little mango trees,
and in the centre of all the little rose bush, bearing the red and
white roses.
The girl rushed by the mango trees, who uttered no words, and running
up to the rose bush, began gathering some of the flowers. At this the
rose bush trembled very much, and sighed and said, "I am a little girl
as well as you; how can you be so cruel? You are breaking all my
ribs." Then the child ran back to her father and said, "Come and
listen to what the rose bush says." And the father repeated the news
to the twelve Ranees, who ordered that a great fire should be made,
and the hundred and one little trees be burnt in it, root and branch,
till not a stick remained.
The fire was made, and the hundred and one little trees were dug up
and just going to be put into it, when Gunputti, taking pity on them,
caused a tremendous storm to come on, which put out the fire and
flooded the country and swept the hundred and one trees into the
river, where they were carried down a long, long way by the torrent,
until at last the children were landed, restored to their own shapes,
on the river bank, in the midst of a wild jungle, very far from any
human habitation.
Here these children lived for ten years, happy in their mutual love
and affection. Generally every day fifty of the boys would go out to
collect roots and berries for their food, leaving fifty at home to
take care of their little sister: but sometimes they put her in some
safe place, and all would go out together for the day; nor were they
ever molested in their excursions by bear, panther, snake, scorpion,
or other noxious creature. One day all the brothers put their little
sister safely up in a fine shady tree, and went out together to hunt.
After rambling on for some time, they came to the hut of a savage
Rakshas, who in the disguise of an old woman had lived for many years
in the jungle. The Rakshas, angry at this invasion of her domain, no
sooner saw them than she changed them all into crows. Night came on,
and their little sister was anxiously awaiting her brothers' return,
when on a sudden she heard a loud whirring sound in the air, and round
the tree flocked a hundred black crows, cawing and offering her
berries and roots which they had dug up with their sharp bills. Then
the little sister guessed too truly what must have happened--that some
malignant spirit had metamorphosed her brothers into this hideous
shape; and at the sad sight she began to cry.
Time wore on; every morning the crows flew away to collect food for
her and for themselves, and every evening they returned to roost in
the branches of the high tree where she sat the livelong day, crying
as if her heart would break.
At last so many bitter tears had she shed that they made a little
stream which flowed from the foot of the tree right down through the
jungle.
Some months after this, one fine day, a young Rajah from a neighboring
country happened to be hunting in this very jungle; but he had not
been very successful. Toward the close of the day he found himself
faint and weary, having missed his way and lost his comrades, with no
companion save his dogs, who, being thirsty, ran hurriedly hither and
thither in search of water. After some time, they saw in the distance
what looked like a clear stream: the dogs rushed there and the tired
prince, following them, flung himself down on the grass by the water's
brink, thinking to sleep there for the night; and, with his hands
under his head, stared up into the leafy branches of the tree above
him. Great was his astonishment to see high up in the air an immense
number of crows, and above them all a most lovely young girl, who was
feeding them with berries and wild fruits. Quick as thought, he
climbed the tree, and bringing her carefully and gently down, seated
her on the grass beside him, saying, "Tell me, pretty lady, who you
are, and how you come to be living in this dreary palace?" So she told
him all her adventures, except that she did not say the hundred crows
were her hundred brothers. Then the Rajah said, "Do not cry any more,
fair Princess; you shall come home with me and be my Ranee, and my
father and mother shall be yours." At this she smiled and dried her
eyes, but quickly added, "You will let me take these crows with me,
will you not? for I love them dearly, and I cannot go away unless they
may come too." "To be sure," he answered. "You may bring all the
animals in the jungle with you, if you like, so you will only come."
So he took her home to his father's house, and the old Rajah and Ranee
wondered much at this jungle Lady, when they saw her rare beauty, her
modest gentle ways and her queenly grace. Then the young Rajah told
them how she was a persecuted Princess, and asked their leave to marry
her; and because her loving goodness had won all hearts, they gave
their consent as joyfully as if she had been daughter of the greatest
of Rajahs, and brought with her a splendid dower; and they called her
Draupadi Bai.[47]
[47] Doubtless after the beautiful Princess Draupadi, daughter of
the Rajah of Panchala, and a famous character in the great Hindoo
epic, the "Maha Bharata."
Draupadi had some beautiful trees planted in front of her palace, in
which the crows, her brothers, used to live, and she daily with her
own hands boiled a quantity of rice, which she would scatter for them
to eat as they flocked around her. Now some time after this, Draupadi
Bai had a son, who was called Ramchundra. He was a very good boy, and
his mother Draupadi Bai used to take him to school every morning, and
go and fetch him home in the evening. But one day, when Ramchundra was
about fourteen years old, it happened that Draupadi Bai did not go to
fetch him home from school as she was wont; and on his return he found
her sitting under the trees in front of her palace, stroking the
glossy black crows that flocked around her, and weeping.
Then Ramchundra threw down his bundle of books, and said to his
mother, putting his elbows on her knees, and looking up in her face,
"Mammy, dear, tell me why you are now crying, and what it is that
makes you so often sad." "Oh, nothing, nothing," she answered. "Yes,
dear mother," said he, "do tell me. Can I help you? If I can, I will."
Draupadi Bai shook her head. "Alas, no, my son," she said; "you are
too young to help me; and as for my grief, I have never told it to any
one. I cannot tell it to you now." But Ramchundra continued begging
and praying her to tell him, until at last she did; relating to him
all her own and his uncles' sad history; and lastly, how they had been
changed by a Rakshas into the black crows he saw around him. Then the
boy sprang up and said, "Which way did your brothers take when they
met the Rakshas?" "How can I tell?" she asked. "Why," he answered, "I
thought perhaps you might remember on which side they returned that
first night to you, after being bewitched?" "Oh," she said, "they came
toward the tree from that part of the jungle which lies in a straight
line behind the palace." "Very well," cried Ramchundra, joyfully, "I
also will go there, and find out this wicked old Rakshas, and learn by
what means they may be disenchanted." "No, no, my son," she answered,
"I cannot let you go: see, I have lost father and mother, and these my
hundred brothers; and now, if you fall into the Rakshas' clutches as
well as they, and are lost to me, what will life have worth living
for?" To this he replied, "Do not fear for me, mother; I will be wary
and discreet." And going to his father, he said, "Father, it is time I
should see something of the world. I beg you to permit me to travel
and see other lands." The Rajah answered, "You shall go. Tell me what
attendants you would like to accompany you?" "Give me," said
Ramchundra, "a horse to ride, and a groom to take care of it." The
Rajah consented, and Ramchundra set off riding toward the jungle; but
as soon as he got there, he sent his horse back by the groom with a
message to his parents, and proceeded alone, on foot.
After wandering about for some time he came upon a small hut, in which
lay an ugly old woman fast asleep. She had long claws instead of
hands, and her hair hung down all around her in a thick black tangle.
Ramchundra knew, by the whole appearance of the place, that he must
have reached the Rakshas' abode of which he was in search; so,
stealing softly in, he sat down and began shampooing her head. At last
the Rakshas woke up. "You dear little boy," she said, "do not be
afraid; I am only a poor old woman, and will not hurt you. Stay with
me, and you shall be my servant." This she said not from any feeling
of kindness or pity for Ramchundra, but merely because she thought he
might be helpful to her. So the young Rajah remained in her service,
determining to stay there till he should have learnt from her all that
he wished to know.
Thus one day he said to her, "Good mother, what is the use of all
those little jars of water you have arranged round your house?" She
answered, "That water possesses certain magical attributes: if any of
it is sprinkled on people enchanted by me, they instantly resume their
former shape." "And what," he continued, "is the use of your wand?"
"That," she replied, "has many supernatural powers: for instance, by
simply uttering your wish and waving it in the air, you can conjure up
a mountain, a river or a forest in a moment of time."
Another day Ramchundra said to her, "Your hair, good mother, is
dreadfully tangled; pray let me comb it." "No," she said, "you must
not touch my hair; it would be dangerous; for every hair has power to
set the jungle on fire." "How is that?" he asked. She replied, "The
least fragment of my hair thrown in the direction of the jungle would
instantly set it in a blaze." Having learnt all this, one day when it
was very hot, and the old Rakshas was drowsy, Ramchundra begged leave
to shampoo her head, which speedily sent her to sleep; then, gently
pulling out two or three of her hairs, he got up, and taking in one
hand her wand, and in the other two jars of the magic water, he
stealthily left the hut; but he had not gone far before she woke up,
and instantly divining what he had done, pursued him with great
rapidity. Ramchundra, looking back and perceiving that she was gaining
upon him, waved the enchanted wand and created a great river, which
suddenly rolled its tumultuous waves between them; but, quick as
thought, the Rakshas swam the river.
Then he turned, and waving the wand again, caused a high mountain to
rise between them; but the Rakshas climbed the mountain. Nearer she
came, and yet nearer; each time he turned to use the wand and put
obstacles in her way, the delay gave her a few minutes' advantage, so
that he lost almost as much as he gained. Then, as a last resource, he
scattered the hairs he had stolen to the winds, and instantly the
jungle on the hill side, through which the Rakshas was coming, was set
in a blaze; the fire rose higher and higher, the wicked old Rakshas
was consumed by the flames, and Ramchundra pursued his journey in
safety until he reached his father's palace. Draupadi Bai was
overjoyed to see her son again, and he led her out into the garden,
and scattered the magic water on the hundred black crows, which
instantly recovered their human forms, and stood up one hundred fine,
handsome young men.
Then were there rejoicings throughout the country, because the Ranee's
brothers had been disenchanted; and the Rajah sent out into all
neighboring lands to invite their Rajahs and Ranees to a great feast
in honor of his brothers-in-law.
Among others who came to the feast was the Rajah Draupadi Bai's
father, and the twelve wicked Ranees his wives.
When they were all assembled, Draupadi arose, and said to him, "Noble
sir, we had looked to see your wife Guzra Bai with you. Pray you tell
us wherefore she has not accompanied you." The Rajah was much
surprised to learn that Draupadi Bai knew anything about Guzra Bai,
and he said, "Speak not of her: she is a wicked woman; it is fit that
she should end her days in prison." But Draupadi Bai and her husband,
and her hundred brothers, rose and said, "We require, O Rajah, that
you send home instantly and fetch hither that much injured lady,
which, if you refuse to do, your wives shall be imprisoned, and you
ignominiously expelled this kingdom."
The Rajah could not guess what the meaning of this was, and thought
they merely wished to pick a quarrel with him: but not much caring
whether Guzra Bai came or not, he sent for her as was desired. When
she arrived, her daughter Draupadi Bai, and her hundred sons, with
Draupadi Bai's husband and the young Ramchundra, went out to the gate
to meet her, and conducted her into the palace with all honor. Then,
standing around her, they turned to the Rajah her husband, and related
to him the story of their lives; how that they were his children, and
Guzra Bai their mother; how she had been cruelly calumniated by the
twelve wicked Ranees, and they in constant peril of their lives; but
having miraculously escaped many terrible dangers, still lived to pay
him duteous service and to cheer and support his old age.
At this news the whole company was very much astonished. The Rajah,
overjoyed, embraced his wife Guzra Bai, and it was agreed that she and
their hundred sons should return with him to his own land, which
accordingly was done. Ramchundra lived very happily with his father
and mother to the day of their death, when he ascended the throne, and
became a very popular Rajah; and the twelve wicked old Ranees, who had
conspired against Guzra Bai and her children, were, by order of the
Rajah, burnt to death. Thus truth triumphed in the end; but so
unequally is human justice meted out that the old nurse, who worked
their evil will, and was in fact the most guilty wretch of all, is
said to have lived unpunished, to have died in the bosom of her
family, and to have had as big a funeral pile as any virtuous Hindoo.
[Decoration]
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