_LITTLE SURYA BAI._
A poor Milkwoman was once going into the town with cans full of milk
to sell. She took with her her little daughter (a baby of about a year
old), having no one in whose charge to leave her at home. Being tired,
she sat down by the road-side, placing the child and the cans full of
milk beside her; when, on a sudden, two large eagles flew overhead;
and one, swooping down, seized the child, and flew away with her out
of the mother's sight.
Very far, far away the eagles carried the little baby, even beyond the
borders of her native land, until they reached their home in a lofty
tree. There the old eagles had built a great nest; it was made of iron
and wood, and was as big as a little house; there was iron all round,
and to get in and out you had to go through seven iron doors.
In this stronghold they placed the little baby, and because she was
like a young eaglet they called her Surya Bai (the Sun Lady). The
eagles both loved the child; and daily they flew into distant
countries to bring her rich and precious things--clothes that had been
made for princesses, precious jewels, wonderful playthings, all that
was most costly and rare.
One day, when Surya Bai was twelve years old, the old husband Eagle
said to his wife, "Wife, our daughter has no diamond ring on her
little finger, such as princesses wear; let us go and fetch her one."
"Yes," said the other old Eagle; "but to fetch it we must go very
far." "True," rejoined he, "such a ring is not to be got nearer than
the Red Sea, and that is a twelvemonth's journey from here;
nevertheless we will go." So the Eagles started off, leaving Surya Bai
in the strong nest, with twelve months' provisions (that she might not
be hungry whilst they were away), and a little dog and cat to take
care of her.
Not long after they were gone, one day the naughty little cat stole
some food from the store, for doing which Surya Bai punished her. The
cat did not like being whipped, and she was still more annoyed at
having been caught stealing; so, in revenge, she ran to the fireplace
(they were obliged to keep a fire always burning in the Eagle's nest,
as Surya Bai never went down from the tree, and would not otherwise
have been able to cook her dinner), and put out the fire. When the
little girl saw this she was much vexed, for the cat had eaten their
last cooked provisions, and she did not know what they were to do for
food. For three whole days Surya Bai puzzled over the difficulty, and
for three whole days she and the dog and the cat had nothing to eat.
At last she thought she would climb to the edge of the nest, and see
if she could see any fire in the country below; and, if so, she would
go down and ask the people who lighted it to give her a little with
which to cook her dinner. So she climbed to the edge of the nest.
Then, very far away on the horizon, she saw a thin curl of blue smoke.
So she let herself down from the tree, and all day long she walked in
the direction whence the smoke came. Toward evening she reached the
place, and found it rose from a small hut in which sat an old woman
warming her hands over a fire. Now, though Surya Bai did not know it,
she had reached the Rakshas' country, and this old woman was none
other than a wicked old Rakshas, who lived with her son in the little
hut. The young Rakshas, however, had gone out for the day. When the
old Rakshas saw Surya Bai, she was much astonished, for the girl was
beautiful as the sun, and her rich dress was resplendent with jewels;
and she said to herself, "How lovely this child is; what a dainty
morsel she would be! Oh, if my son were only here we would kill her,
and boil her, and eat her. I will try and detain her till his return."
Then, turning to Surya Bai, she said, "Who are you, and what do you
want?" Surya Bai answered, "I am the daughter of the great Eagles, but
they have gone a far journey, to fetch me a diamond ring, and the fire
has died out in the nest. Give me, I pray you, a little from your
hearth." The Rakshas replied, "You shall certainly have some, only
first pound this rice for me, for I am old, and have no daughter to
help me." Then Surya Bai pounded the rice, but the young Rakshas had
not returned by the time she had finished; so the old Rakshas said to
her, "If you are kind, grind this corn for me, for it is hard work for
my old hands." Then she ground the corn, but still the young Rakshas
came not; and the old Rakshas said to her, "Sweep the house for me
first, and then I will give you the fire." So Surya Bai swept the
house; but still the young Rakshas did not come.
Then his mother said to Surya Bai, "Why should you be in such a hurry
to go home? fetch me some water from the well, and then you shall have
the fire." And she fetched the water. When she had done so, Surya Bai
said, "I have done all your bidding, now give me the fire, or I will
go elsewhere and seek it."
The old Rakshas was grieved because her son had not returned home; but
she saw she could detain Surya Bai no longer, so she said, "Take the
fire and go in peace; take also some parched corn, and scatter it
along the road as you go, so as to make a pretty little pathway from
our house to yours,"--and so saying, she gave Surya Bai several
handsful of parched corn. The girl took them, fearing no evil, and as
she went she scattered the grains on the road. Then she climbed back
into the nest and shut the seven iron doors, and lighted the fire, and
cooked the food, and gave the dog and the cat some dinner, and took
some herself, and went to sleep.
No sooner had Surya Bai left the Rakshas' hut, than the young Rakshas
returned, and his mother said to him, "Alas, alas, my son, why did not
you come sooner? Such a sweet little lamb has been here, and now we
have lost her." Then she told him all about Surya Bai. "Which way did
she go?" asked the young Rakshas; "only tell me that, and I'll have
her before morning."
His mother told him how she had given Surya Bai the parched corn to
scatter on the road; and when he heard that, he followed up the track,
and ran, and ran, and ran, till he came to the foot of the tree.
There, looking up, he saw the nest high in the branches above them.
Quick as thought, up he climbed, and reached the great outer door;
and he shook it, and shook it, but he could not get in, for Surya Bai
had bolted it. Then he said, "Let me in, my child, let me in; I'm the
great Eagle, and I have come from very far, and brought you many
beautiful jewels; and here is a splendid diamond ring to fit your
little finger." But Surya Bai did not hear him--she was fast asleep.
He next tried to force open the door again, but it was too strong for
him. In his efforts, however, he had broken off one of his finger
nails (now the nail of a Rakshas is most poisonous), which he left
sticking in the crack of the door when he went away.
Next morning Surya Bai opened all the doors, in order to look down on
the world below; but when she came to the seventh door a sharp thing,
which was sticking in it, ran into her hand, and immediately she fell
down dead.
At that same moment the two poor old Eagles returned from their long
twelvemonth's journey, bringing a beautiful diamond ring, which they
had fetched for their little favorite from the Red Sea.
There she lay on the threshold of the nest, beautiful as ever, but
cold and dead.
The Eagles could not bear the sight; so they placed the ring on her
finger, and then, with loud cries, flew off to return no more.
But a little while after there chanced to come by a great Rajah, who
was out on a hunting expedition. He came with hawks, and hounds, and
attendants, and horses, and pitched his camp under the tree in which
the Eagles' nest was built. Then looking up, he saw, amongst the
topmost branches, what appeared like a queer little house; and he sent
some of his attendants to see what it was. They soon returned, and
told the Rajah that up in the tree was a curious thing like a cage,
having seven iron doors, and that on the threshold of the first door
lay a fair maiden, richly dressed; that she was dead, and that beside
her stood a little dog and a little cat.
At this the Rajah commanded that they should be fetched down, and when
he saw Surya Bai he felt very sad to think that she was dead. And he
took her hand to feel if it were already stiff; but all her limbs were
supple, nor had she become cold, as the dead are cold; and, looking
again at her hand, the Rajah saw that a sharp thing, like a long
thorn, had run into the tender palm, almost far enough to pierce
through to the back of her hand.
He pulled it out, and no sooner had he done so than Surya Bai opened
her eyes, and stood up, crying, "Where am I? and who are you? Is it a
dream, or true?"
The Rajah answered, "It is all true, beautiful lady. I am the Rajah of
a neighboring land; pray tell me who are you?"
She replied, "I am the Eagles' child." But he laughed. "Nay," he said,
"that cannot be; you are some great Princess." "No," she answered, "I
am no royal lady; what I say is true. I have lived all my life in this
tree. I am only the Eagles' child."
Then the Rajah said, "If you are not a Princess born, I will make you
one, say only you will be my Queen."
Surya Bai consented, and the Rajah took her to his kingdom and made
her his Queen. But Surya Bai was not his only wife, and the first
Ranee, his other wife, was both envious and jealous of her.[54]
[54] See Notes at the end.
The Rajah gave Surya Bai many trustworthy attendants to guard her and
be with her; and one old woman loved Surya Bai more than all the rest,
and used to say to her, "Don't be too intimate with the first Ranee,
dear lady, for she wishes you no good, and she has power to do you
harm. Some day she may poison or otherwise injure you;" but Surya Bai
would answer her, "Nonsense! what is there to be alarmed about? Why
cannot we both live happily together like two sisters?" Then the old
woman would rejoin, "Ah, dear lady, may you never live to rue your
confidence! I pray my fears may prove folly." So Surya Bai went often
to see the first Ranee, and the first Ranee also came often to see
her.
One day they were standing in the palace courtyard, near a tank, where
the Rajah's people used to bathe, and the first Ranee said to Surya
Bai, "What pretty jewels you have, sister! let me try them on for a
minute, and see how I look in them."
The old woman was standing beside Surya Bai, and she whispered to her,
"Do not lend her your jewels." "Hush, you silly old woman," answered
she. "What harm will it do?" and she gave the Ranee her jewels. Then
the Ranee said, "How pretty all your things are! Do you not think they
look well even on me? Let us come down to the tank; it is as clear as
glass, and we can see ourselves reflected in it, and how these jewels
will shine in the clear water!"
The old woman, hearing this, was much alarmed, and begged Surya Bai
not to venture near the tank, but she said, "I bid you be silent; I
will not distrust my sister," and she went down to the tank. Then,
when no one was near, and they were both leaning over, looking at
their reflections in the water, the first Ranee pushed Surya Bai into
the tank, who, sinking under water, was drowned; and from the place
where her body fell there sprang up a bright golden sunflower.
The Rajah shortly afterward inquired where Surya Bai was, but nowhere
could she be found. Then, very angry, he came to the first Ranee and
said, "Tell me where the child is? You have made away with her." But
she answered, "You do me wrong; I know nothing of her. Doubtless that
old woman, whom you allowed to be always with her, has done her some
harm." So the Rajah ordered the poor old woman to be thrown into
prison.
He tried to forget Surya Bai and all her pretty ways, but it was no
good. Wherever he went he saw her face. Whatever he heard, he still
listened for her voice. Every day he grew more miserable; he would not
eat or drink; and as for the other Ranee, he could not bear to speak
to her. All his people said, "He will surely die."
When matters were in this state, the Rajah one day wandered to the
edge of the tank, and bending over the parapet, looked into the water.
Then he was surprised to see, growing out of the tank close beside
him, a stately golden flower; and as he watched it, the sunflower
gently bent its head and leaned down toward him. The Rajah's heart was
softened, and he kissed its leaves and murmured, "This flower reminds
me of my lost wife. I love it, it is fair and gentle as she used to
be." And every day he would go down to the tank; and sit and watch the
flower. When the Ranee heard this, she ordered her servants to go and
dig the sunflower up, and to take it far into the jungle and burn it.
Next time the Rajah went to the tank he found his flower gone, and he
was much grieved, but none dare say who had done it.
Then, in the jungle, from the place where the ashes of the sunflower
had been thrown, there sprang up a young mango tree, tall and
straight, that grew so quickly, and became such a beautiful tree, that
it was the wonder of all the country round. At last, on its topmost
bough, came one fair blossom; and the blossom fell, and the little
mango grew rosier and rosier, and larger and larger, till so wonderful
was it both for size and shape that people flocked from far and near
only to look at it.
But none ventured to gather it, for it was to be kept for the Rajah
himself.
Now one day, the poor Milkwoman, Surya Bai's mother, was returning
homeward after her day's work with the empty milk cans, and being very
tired with her long walk to the bazaar, she lay down under the mango
tree and fell asleep. Then, right into her largest milk can, fell the
wonderful mango! When the poor woman awoke and saw what had happened,
she was dreadfully frightened, and thought to herself, "If any one
sees me with this wonderful fruit, that all the Rajah's great people
have been watching for so many, many weeks, they will never believe
that I did not steal it, and I shall be put in prison. Yet it is no
good leaving it here; besides, it fell off of itself into my milk can.
I will therefore take it home as secretly as possible, and share it
with my children."
So the Milkwoman covered up the can in which the mango was, and took
it quickly to her home, where she placed it in the corner of the room,
and put over it a dozen other milk cans, piled one above another.
Then, as soon as it was dark, she called her husband and eldest son
(for she had six or seven children), and said to them, "What good
fortune do you think has befallen me to-day?"
"We cannot guess," they said. "Nothing less," she went on, "than the
wonderful, wonderful mango falling into one of my milk cans while I
slept! I have brought it home with me; it is in that lowest can. Go,
husband, call all the children to have a slice; and you, my son, take
down that pile of cans and fetch me the mango." "Mother," he said,
when he got to the lowest can, "you were joking, I suppose, when you
told us there was a mango here."
"No, not at all," she answered; "there is a mango there. I put it
there myself an hour ago."
"Well, there's something quite different now," replied the son. "Come
and see."
The Milkwoman ran to the place, and there, in the lowest can, she saw,
not the mango, but a little tiny wee lady, richly dressed in red and
gold, and no bigger than a mango! On her head shone a bright jewel
like a little sun.
"This is very odd," said the mother. "I never heard of such a thing in
my life! But since she has been sent to us, I will take care of her,
as if she were my own child."
Every day the little lady grew taller and taller, until she was the
size of an ordinary woman; she was gentle and lovable, but always sad
and quiet, and she said her name was "Surya Bai."
The children were all very curious to know her history, but the
Milkwoman and her husband would not let her be teased to tell who she
was, and said to the children, "Let us wait. By and by, when she knows
us better, she will most likely tell us her story of her own accord."
Now it came to pass that once, when Surya Bai was taking water from
the well for the old Milkwoman, the Rajah rode by, and as he saw her
walking along, he cried, "That is my wife," and rode after her as fast
as possible. Surya Bai hearing a great clatter of horses' hoofs, was
frightened, and ran home as fast as possible, and hid herself; and
when the Rajah reached the place there was only the old Milkwoman to
be seen standing at the door of her hut.
Then the Rajah said to her, "Give her up, old woman, you have no right
to keep her; she is mine, she is mine!" But the old woman answered,
"Are you mad? I don't know what you mean."
The Rajah replied, "Do not attempt to deceive me. I saw my wife go in
at your door; she must be in the house."
"Your wife?" screamed the old woman--"your wife? you mean my daughter,
who lately returned from the well! Do you think I am going to give my
child up at your command? You are Rajah in your palace, but I am Rajah
in my own house; and I won't give up my little daughter for any
bidding of yours. Be off with you, or I'll pull out your beard." And
so saying, she seized a long stick and attacked the Rajah, calling out
loudly to her husband and sons, who came running to her aid.
The Rajah, seeing matters were against him, and having outridden his
attendants (and not being quite certain moreover whether he had seen
Surya Bai, or whether she might not have been really the poor
Milkwoman's daughter), rode off and returned to his palace.
However, he determined to sift the matter. As a first step he went to
see Surya Bai's old attendant, who was still in prison. From her he
learnt enough to make him believe she was not only entirely innocent
of Surya Bai's death, but gravely to suspect the first Ranee of having
caused it. He therefore ordered the old woman to be set at liberty,
still keeping a watchful eye on her, and bade her prove her devotion
to her long-lost mistress by going to the Milkwoman's house, and
bringing him as much information as possible about the family, and
more particularly about the girl he had seen returning from the well.
So the attendant went to the Milkwoman's house, and made friends with
her, and bought some milk, and afterward she stayed and talked to her.
After a few days the Milkwoman ceased to be suspicious of her, and
became quite cordial.
Surya Bai's attendant then told how she had been the late Ranee's
waiting-woman, and how the Rajah had thrown her into prison on her
mistress's death; in return for which intelligence the old Milkwoman
imparted to her how the wonderful mango had tumbled into her can as
she slept under the tree, and how it had miraculously changed in the
course of an hour into a beautiful little lady. "I wonder why she
should have chosen my poor house to live in, instead of any one
else's," said the old woman.
Then Surya Bai's attendant said, "Have you ever asked her her history?
Perhaps she would not mind telling it to you now."
So the Milkwoman called the girl, and as soon as the old attendant
saw her, she knew it was none other than Surya Bai, and her heart
jumped for joy; but she remained silent, wondering much, for she knew
her mistress had been drowned in the tank.
The old Milkwoman turned to Surya Bai and said, "My child, you have
lived long with us, and been a good daughter to me; but I have never
asked you your history, because I thought it must be a sad one; but if
you do not fear to tell it to me now, I should like to hear it."
Surya Bai answered, "Mother, you speak true; my story is sad. I
believe my real mother was a poor Milkwoman like you, and that she
took me with her one day when I was quite a little baby, as she was
going to sell milk in the bazaar. But being tired with the long walk,
she sat down to rest, and placed me also on the ground, when suddenly
a great Eagle flew down and carried me away. But all the father and
mother I ever knew were the two great Eagles."
"Ah, my child! my child!" cried the Milkwoman, "I was that poor woman;
the Eagles flew away with my eldest girl when she was only a year old.
Have I found you after these many years?"
And she ran and called all her children, and her husband, to tell them
the wonderful news.
Then was there great rejoicing among them all.
When they were a little calmer, her mother said to Surya Bai, "Tell
us, dear daughter, how your life has been spent since first we lost
you." And Surya Bai went on:
"The old Eagles took me away to their home, and there I lived happily
many years. They loved to bring me all the beautiful things they
could find, and at last one day they both went to fetch me a diamond
ring from the Red Sea; but while they were gone the fire went out in
the nest: so I went to an old woman's hut, and got her to give me some
fire; and next day (I don't know how it was), as I was opening the
outer door of the cage, a sharp thing, that was sticking in it, ran
into my hand and I fell down senseless.
"I don't know how long I lay there, but when I came to myself, I found
the Eagles must have come back, and thought me dead, and gone away,
for the diamond ring was on my little finger; a great many people were
watching over me, and amongst them was a Rajah, who asked me to go
home with him and be his wife, and he brought me to this place, and I
was his Ranee.
"But his other wife, the first Ranee, hated me (for she was jealous),
and desired to kill me; and one day she accomplished her purpose by
pushing me into the tank, for I was young and foolish, and disregarded
the warnings of my faithful old attendant, who begged me not to go
near the place. Ah! if I had only listened to her words I might have
been happy still."
At these words the old attendant, who had been sitting in the back
ground, rushed forward and kissed Surya Bai's feet, crying, "Ah, my
lady! my lady! have I found you at last!" and, without staying to hear
more, she ran back to the palace to tell the Rajah the glad news.
Then Surya Bai told her parents how she had not wholly died in the
tank, but became a sunflower; and how the first Ranee, seeing how fond
the Rajah was of the plant, had caused it to be thrown away; and then
how she had risen from the ashes of the sunflower, in the form of a
mango tree; and how when the tree blossomed all her spirit went into
the little mango flower, and she ended by saying: "And when the flower
became fruit, I know not by what irresistible impulse I was induced to
throw myself into your milk can. Mother, it was my destiny, and as
soon as you took me into your house, I began to recover my human
form."
"Why, then," asked her brothers and sisters, "why do you not tell the
Rajah that you are living, and that you are the Ranee Surya Bai?"
"Alas," she answered, "I could not do that. Who knows but that he may
be influenced by the first Ranee, and also desire my death. Let me
rather be poor like you, but safe from danger."
Then her mother cried, "Oh, what a stupid woman I am! The Rajah one
day came seeking you here, but I and your father and brothers drove
him away, for we did not know you were indeed the lost Ranee."
As she spoke these words a sound of horses' hoofs was heard in the
distance, and the Rajah himself appeared, having heard the good news
of Surya Bai's being alive from her old attendant.
It is impossible to tell the joy of the Rajah at finding his long-lost
wife, but it was not greater than Surya Bai's at being restored to her
husband.
Then the Rajah turned to the old Milkwoman and said, "Old woman, you
did not tell me true, for it was indeed my wife who was in your hut."
"Yes, Protector of the Poor," answered the old Milkwoman, "but it was
also my daughter." Then they told him how Surya Bai was the
Milkwoman's child.
At hearing this the Rajah commanded them all to return with him to
the palace. He gave Surya Bai's father a village, and ennobled the
family; and he said to Surya Bai's old attendant, "For the good
service you have done you shall be palace housekeeper," and he gave
her great riches; adding, "I can never repay the debt I owe you, nor
make you sufficient recompense for having caused you to be unjustly
cast into prison." But she replied, "Sire, even in your anger you were
temperate; if you had caused me to be put to death, as some would have
done, none of this good might have come upon you; it is yourself you
have to thank."
The wicked first Ranee was cast, for the rest of her life, into the
prison in which the old attendant had been thrown; but Surya Bai lived
happily with her husband the rest of her days; and in memory of her
adventures, he planted round their palace a hedge of sunflowers and a
grove of mango trees.
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