_CHANDRA'S VENGEANCE._
There was once a Sowkar's[92] wife who had no children; one day she
went crying to her husband and saying, "What an unhappy woman I am to
have no children! If I had any children to amuse me I should be quite
happy." He answered, "Why should you be miserable on that account;
though you have no children, your sister has eight or nine; why not
adopt one of hers?" The Sowkar's wife agreed, and, adopting one of her
sister's little boys, who was only six months old, brought him up as
her own son. Some time afterward, when the child was one day returning
from school, he and one of his schoolfellows quarreled and began to
fight, and the other boy (being much the older and stronger of the
two) gave him a great blow on the head and knocked him down, and hurt
him very much. The boy ran crying home, and the Sowkar's wife bathed
his head and bandaged it up, but she did not send and punish the boy
who hurt him, for she thought, "One can't keep children shut up always
in the house, and they will be fighting together sometimes and hurting
themselves." Then the child grumbled to himself, saying, "This is only
my aunt; that is why she did not punish the other boy. If she had
been my mother, she would certainly have given him a great knock on
his head to punish him for knocking mine, but because she is only my
aunt, I suppose she doesn't care." The Sowkar's wife overheard him,
and felt very much grieved, saying, "This little child, whom I have
watched over from his babyhood, does not love me as if I were his
mother. It is of no use; he is not my own, and he will never care for
me as such." So she took him home to his own mother, saying, "Sister,
I have brought you back your child." "How is this?" asked her sister.
"You adopted him as yours for all his life. Why do you now bring him
back?" The Sowkar's wife did not tell her sister what she had heard
the boy say, but she answered, "Very well; let him be yours and mine:
he shall live a while with you, and then come and visit me; we will
both take care of him." And returning to her husband, she told him
what she had done, saying "All my pains are useless; you know how kind
I have been to my sister's boy, yet, after all I have done for him, at
the end of seven years he does not love me as well as he does his
mother, whom he had scarcely seen. Now, therefore, I will never rest
until I have seen Mahdeo[93] and asked him to grant that I may have a
child of my own."[94]
[92] Merchant's.
[93] The Creator.
[94] See Notes at the end.
"What a foolish woman you are!" answered her husband; "why not be
content with your lot? How do you think you will find Mahdeo? Do you
know the road to heaven?" "Nay," she replied, "but I will seek for it
until I find it out, and if I never find it, it cannot be helped, but
I will return home no more unless my prayer is answered." So she left
the house, and wandered into the jungle, and after she had traveled
through it for many, many days, and left her own land very far behind,
she came to the borders of another country, even the Madura
Tinivelly[95] country, where a great river rolled down toward the sea.
On the river-bank sat two women--a Ranee named Coplinghee Ranee and a
Nautch woman.
[95] Two provinces of the Madras Presidency, on the mainland
opposite Ceylon. They are famous in Hindoo mythology.
Now, neither the Ranee, the Nautch woman nor the Sowkar's wife had
ever seen each other before they met at the river-side. Then, as she
sat down to rest and drink some of the water, the Ranee turned to the
Sowkar's wife and said to her, "Who are you, and where are you going?"
She answered, "I am a Sowkar's wife from a far country, and because I
was very unhappy at having no children, I am going to find Mahdeo and
ask him to grant that I may have a child of my own."
Then, in her turn, she said to the Ranee, "And pray who are you, and
where are you going?" The Ranee answered, "I am Coplinghee Ranee,
queen of all this country, but neither money nor riches can give me
joy, for I have no children; I therefore am going to seek Mahdeo and
ask him to grant that I may have a child." Then Coplinghee Ranee asked
the Nautch woman the same question, saying, "And who may you be, and
where are you going?" The Nautch woman answered, "I am a dancing woman
and I also have no children, and am going to seek Mahdeo and pray to
him for a child." At hearing this, the Sowkar's wife said, "Since we
are all journeying on the same errand, why should we not go together?"
To this Coplinghee Ranee and the Dancing woman agreed, so they all
three continued their journey together through the jungle.
On, on, on they went, every day further and further; they never stayed
to rest nor saw another human being. Their feet ached dreadfully and
their clothes wore out, and they had nothing to live on but the jungle
plants, wild berries and seeds. So weary and worn did they become that
they looked like three poor old beggar women. Never had they by
night-time sleep nor by day-time rest; and so, hour after hour, month
after month, year after year, they traveled on.
At last one day they came to where, in the midst of the jungle, there
rolled a great river of fire. It was the biggest river they had ever
seen, and made of flames instead of water. There was no one on this
side and no one on that--no way of getting across but by walking
through the fire.
When Coplinghee Ranee and the Nautch woman saw this, they said, "Alas!
here is the end of all our pains and trouble. All hope is over, for we
can go no farther." But the Sowkar's wife answered, "Shall we be
deterred by this after having come so far? Nay, rather seek a way
across the fire." And so saying, she stepped into the fire waves; the
others, however, were afraid, and would not go. When the Sowkar's wife
had half crossed the river of fire, she turned, and waving her hands
toward them, said, "Come on, come on, do not be afraid. The fire does
not burn me. I go to find Mahdeo; perhaps he is on the other
side."[96] But they still refused, saying, "We cannot come, but we
will wait here until your return; and if you find Mahdeo, pray for us
also, that we may have children."
[96] See Notes at the end.
So the Sowkar's wife went on her way, and the fire-waves lapped round
her feet as if they had been water, but they did not hurt her.
When she reached the other side of the river she came upon a great
wilderness, full of wild elephants, and bison, and lions, and tigers,
and bears, that roared and growled on every side. But she did not turn
back for fear of them, for she said to herself, "I can but die once,
and it is better that they should kill me than that I should return
without finding Mahdeo." And all the wild beasts allowed her to pass
through the midst of them and did her no harm.
Now it came to pass that Mahdeo looked down from heaven and saw her,
and when he saw her he pitied her greatly, for she had been twelve
years wandering upon the face of the earth to find him. Then he caused
a beautiful mango tree, beside a fair well, to spring up in the desert
to give her rest and refreshment, and he himself, in the disguise of a
Gosain Fakeer, came and stood by the tree. But the Sowkar's wife would
not stay to gather the fruit or drink the water; she did not so much
as notice the Fakeer, but walked straight on in her weary search for
Mahdeo. Then he called after her, "Bai, Bai, where are you going? Come
here." She answered, scarcely looking at him, "It matters not to you,
Fakeer, where I am going. You tell your prayer-beads and leave me
alone." "Come here," he cried; "come here." But she would not, so
Mahdeo went and stood in front of her, no longer disguised as a
Fakeer, but shining brightly, the Lord of Kylas[97] in all his beauty,
and at the sight of him the poor Sowkar's wife fell down on the ground
and kissed his feet, and he said to her, "Tell me, Bai, where are you
going?" She answered, "Sir, I seek Mahdeo, to pray him to grant that I
may have a child, but for twelve years I have looked for him in vain."
He said, "Seek no further, for I am Mahdeo; take this mango," and he
gathered one off the tree that grew by the well, "and eat it, and it
shall come to pass that when you return home you shall have a child."
Then she said, "Sir, three women came seeking you, but two stayed by
the river of fire, for they were afraid; may not they also have
children?"
[97] The Hindoo heaven.
"If you will," he answered, "you may give them some of your mango, and
then they also will each have a child."
So saying, he faded from her sight, and the Sowkar's wife returned
glad and joyful, through the wilderness and the river of fire, to
where the Ranee and the Dancing woman were waiting for her on the
other side. When they saw her, they said, "Well, Sowkar's wife, what
news?" She answered, "I have found Mahdeo, and he has given me this
mango, of which if we eat we shall each have a child." And she took
the mango, and squeezing it gave the juice to the Ranee, and the skin
she gave to the Nautch woman, and the pulp and the stone she ate
herself.
Then these three women returned to their own homes; Coplinghee Ranee
and the Dancing woman to the Madura Tinivelly country, and the
Sowkar's wife to very, very far beyond that, even the land where her
husband lived, and whence she had first started on her journey.
But on their return all their friends only laughed at them, and the
Sowkar said to his wife, "I cannot see much good in your mad
twelve-years' journey; you only come back looking like a beggar, and
all the world laughs at you."
"I don't care," she answered; "I have seen Mahdeo and eaten of the
mango, and I shall have a child."
And within a little while it came to pass that there was born to the
Sowkar and his wife a little son, and on the very same day Coplinghee
Ranee had a daughter and the Nautch woman had a daughter.
Then were they all very happy, and sent everywhere to tell their
friends the good news; and each gave, according to her power, a great
feast to the poor as a thank-offering to Mahdeo, who had been merciful
to them. And the Sowkar's wife called her son "Koila,"[98] in memory
of the mango stone; and the Nautch woman called her daughter
"Moulee;"[99] and the little Princess was named Chandra Bai,[100] for
she was as fair and beautiful as the white moon.
[98] He of the mango stone.
[99] From the sweet mango pulp.
[100] The Moon Lady.
Chandra Ranee was very beautiful, the most beautiful child in all that
country, so pretty and delicately made that everybody, when they saw
her, loved her. She was born, moreover, with, on her ankles, two of
the most costly anklets that ever were seen. They were made of gold
and very precious stones, dazzling to look at, like the sun. No one
had ever seen any like them before. Every day, as the baby grew, these
bangles grew, and round them were little bells, which tinkled when any
one came near. Chandra's parents were very happy and proud, and sent
for all the wise men in the kingdom to tell her fortune. But the most
learned Brahmin of them all, when he saw her, said, "This child must
be sent out of the country at once, for if she stays in it she will
destroy all the land with fire, and burn it utterly."
The Rajah, at hearing these words, was very angry, and said to the
Brahmin, "I will cut off your head, for you tell lies and not the
truth." The Brahmin answered, "Cut off my head if you will, but it is
the truth I speak, and no lie. If you do not believe me, let a little
wool be fetched, and put it upon the child, that you may know my words
are true."
So they fetched some wool and laid it upon the baby, and no sooner had
they done so than it all blazed up and burnt till not a bit was left,
and it scorched the hands of the attendants.
Then the Brahmin said, "As this fire has burnt the wool, so will this
Princess one day, if she comes here, burn this whole land." And they
were all very much frightened, and the Rajah said to the Ranee, "This
being so, the child must be sent out of the country instantly." The
poor Ranee thereat was very sad, and she did all in her power to save
her little baby, but the Rajah would not hear of it, and commanded
that the Princess should be placed in a large box, and taken to the
borders of his land, where a great river rolled down to the sea, and
there thrown into the stream, that it might carry her far, far away,
each minute farther from her native land.[101] Then the Ranee caused a
beautiful golden box to be made, and put her little baby in it with
many tears (since all her efforts to save it were of no avail), and it
was taken away and thrown into the river.
[101] See Notes at the end.
The box floated on, and on, and on, until at last it reached the
country where the Sowkar and the Sowkar's wife lived. Now it chanced
that, just as the box was floating by, the Sowkar, who had gone down
to the river to wash his face, caught sight of it, and seeing a
Fisherman not far off prepared to throw his net into the water, he
cried, "Run, Fisherman, run, run; do not stop to fish, but cast your
net over that glittering box and bring it here to me."
"I will not, unless you promise me that the box shall be mine," said
the Fisherman. "Very well," answered the Sowkar, "the box shall be
yours, and whatever it contains shall belong to me."
So the Fisherman cast his net in that part of the river and dragged
the box ashore.
I don't know which was most astonished--the Merchant or the
Fisherman--when they saw what a prize they had found. For the box was
composed entirely of gold and precious stones, and within it lay the
most lovely little child that ever was seen.
She seemed a little Princess, for her dress was all made of cloth of
gold, and on her feet were two anklets that shone like the sun.
When the Sowkar opened the box, she smiled; and stretched out her
little arms toward him. Then he was pleased, and said, "Fisherman, the
box is yours, but this child must belong to me." The Fisherman was
content that it should be so, for he had many children of his own at
home, and wanted no more, but was glad to have the golden box; while
the Sowkar, who had only his one little son and was rich, did not care
for the box, but was well pleased to have the baby.
He took her home to his wife, and said, "See, wife, here is a pretty
little daughter-in-law for us. Here is a wife for your little son."
And when the Sowkar's wife saw the child looking so beautiful and
smiling so sweetly, her heart was glad and she loved her, and from
that day took the greatest care of her, just as if the baby girl had
been her own daughter. And when Chandra Ranee was a year old they
married her to their son, Koila.
Years wore on, and the Sowkar and his wife were in a good old age
gathered to their fathers. Meantime, Koila and Chandra had grown up
the handsomest couple in all the country: Koila tall and straight,
with a face like a young lion, and Chandra as lithe and graceful as a
palm tree, with a face calm and beautiful like the silver moonlight.
Meantime Moulee, the Nautch woman's daughter (and third of the mango
children), had likewise grown up in the Madura Tinivelly country, and
was also very fair--fairer than any one in all the land around.
Moreover, she danced and sang more beautifully than any of the other
Nautch girls. Her voice was clear as the voice of a quail, and it rang
through the air with such power that the sound could be heard a
twelve-days' journey off. The Nautch people used to travel about from
place to place, staying one day in one town and the next in another,
and so it happened that in their wanderings they reached the borders
of the land where Koila and Chandra lived.
One morning Koila heard the sound of singing in the distance, and it
pleased him so well that he determined to try and discover who it was
that possessed such an exquisite voice. For twelve days he journeyed
on through the jungle, each day hearing the singing repeated louder
and louder, yet still without reaching the place whence it came. At
last, on the twelfth day, he got close to the Nautch people's
encampment, not far from a large town, and there saw the singer (who
was none other than Moulee), singing and dancing in the midst of a
great crowd of people who had collected around her. In her hand she
held a garland of flowers, which she waved over her head as she
danced.
Koila was so charmed with the sound of her voice that he felt
spell-bound, and stood where he was, far off on the outskirts of the
jungle, listening, without going any nearer.
When the entertainment was over, all the people crowded round Moulee,
saying, "Why should you, who have such a beautiful voice, go away and
leave our city? Marry one of us, and then you will stay here always."
Then, the number of her suitors being so great that she did not know
whom to choose, she said, "Very well; he on whose neck this garland
falls shall be my husband." And waving the flowers she held two or
three times round her head, she threw them from her with her utmost
force.
The impetus given to the garland was so great that it swung through
the air beyond the crowd and fell upon the neck of Koila as he stood
by the borders of the jungle. And the people ran to see who was the
fortunate possessor, and when they saw Koila they were astonished, for
he looked more beautiful than any of the sons of men: it was as if an
immortal had suddenly come among them. And the Nautch people dragged
him back to their camp, crying, "You have won the garland; you must be
Moulee's husband." He answered, "I only came here to look on; I cannot
stay. This is not my country; I have a wife of my own at home." "That
is nothing to us," they said; "it is your destiny to marry
Moulee--Moulee the beautiful one--Moulee, whose voice you heard and
who dances so well. You must marry her, for the garland fell on you."
Now so it was, that though Koila was very kind to his wife, he did not
love her as well as she loved him (perhaps it was that, having been
accustomed to her from a child, Chandra's goodness and beauty struck
him less than it did other people); and instead of thinking how
unhappy she would be if he did not return, and going back at once, he
stopped and hesitated and debated what to do. And the Nautch people
gave him a drink that was a very powerful spell, insomuch that he soon
totally forgot about his own home, and was married to Moulee, the
Nautch girl, and lived among the Nautch people for many months. At
last, one day, Moulee's mother (the very Nautch woman who had gone
with Coplinghee Ranee and the Sowkar's wife to find Mahdeo) said to
Koila, "Son-in-law, you are a lazy fellow; you have been here now for
a long time, but you do nothing for your support; it is we who have to
pay for your food, we who have to provide your clothes. Go now and
fetch us some money, or I will turn you out of the house, and you
shall never see your wife Moulee again." Koila had no money to give
his mother-in-law: then, for the first time he bethought him of his
own country and of Chandra, and he said "My first wife, who lives in
my own country, has on her feet two bangles of very great value; let
me return home and fetch one of them to sell, which will more than pay
whatever I owe you." The Nautch people consented. So Koila returned to
his own home, and told Chandra what he wanted the money for, and asked
her to let him have one of her bangles; but she refused, saying, "You
have been away a long, long time, and left me all alone, and chosen
for your second wife one of the Nautch people, and become one of them;
and now you want to take one of my bangles--the bangles that I had
when a little child, that have grown with my growth, and never been
taken off--and to give it to your other wife. This shall not be; go
back, if you will, to your new friends, but I will not give you my
bangle."
He answered, "They gave me an enchanted drink which made me forget you
for a time, but I am weary of them all; let me but go and pay my
mother-in-law the money I owe her for food and clothes, and I will
return and live in my own land, for you are my first wife."
"Very well," she said, "you may take the bangle and sell it, and give
the money to your second wife's mother, but take me also with you when
you go; do not leave me here all alone again." Koila agreed, and they
both set off together toward the Madura Tinivelly country.
As they journeyed, Krishnaswami,[102] who was playing at cards with
his three wives, saw them, and when he saw them he laughed. Then his
wives said to him, "Why do you laugh? You have not laughed for such a
long time: what amuses you so much now?" He answered, "I am laughing
to see Koila and his wife Chandra Ranee journeying toward the Madura
Tinivelly country. He is going to sell his wife's bangle, and he will
only be killed, and then she in anger will burn up all the country. O
foolish people!" The goddesses answered, "This is a very dreadful
thing; let us go in disguise and warn him not to enter the country."
"It would be useless," said Krishnaswami; "if you do, he will only
laugh at you and get angry with you." But the goddesses determined to
do their best to avert the threatened calamity. So they disguised
themselves as old fortune-tellers, and went out with little lamps and
their sacred books to meet Koila as he came along the road, followed
by his wife. Then they said to him, "Come not into the Madura
Tinivelly country, for if you come you will be killed, and your wife
in her fury will burn all the land with fire." At first, Koila would
not listen to them; then he bade them go away; and lastly, when they
continued warning him, got angry and beat them out of his path,
saying, "Do you think I am to be frightened out of the country by a
parcel of old crones like you?"
[102] The Hindoo god Krishna, an incarnation of Vishnu.
Then Krishnaswami's three wives returned to him, much enraged at the
treatment they had received; but he only said to them, "Did not I tell
you not to go, warning you that it would be useless?"
On getting near the Rajah's capital, Koila and Chandra came to the
house of an old milk-seller, who was very kind to them and gave them
food and shelter for the night. Next morning Koila said to his wife,
"You had better stay here; this good old woman will take care of you
while I go into the town to sell your bangle." Chandra agreed, and
remained at the old woman's house while her husband went into the
town. Of course he did not know that the Rajah and his wife (the
Coplinghee Ranee) were Chandra's father and mother, any more than
they, or Chandra herself, knew it, or than the three mango children
knew the story of their mothers' journey in search of Mahdeo.
Now a short time before Koila and Chandra reached the Madura
Tinivelly country, Coplinghee Ranee had sent a very handsome pair of
bangles to a Jeweler in the town to be cleaned. It chanced that in a
high tree close to the Jeweler's house two eagles had built their
nest, and the young eagles, who were very noisy birds, used to scream
all day long and greatly disturb the Jeweler's family. So one day,
when the old birds were away, the Jeweler's son climbed up the tree
and pulled down the nest, and put the young eagles to death. When the
old birds returned home and saw what was done, it grieved them very
much, and they said, "These cruel people have killed our children; let
us punish them." And seeing in the porch one of Coplinghee Ranee's
beautiful bangles, which the Jeweler had just been cleaning, they
swooped down and flew away with it.[103]
[103] See Notes at the end.
The Jeweler did not know what to do: he said to his wife, "To buy such
a bangle as that would cost more than all our fortune, and to make one
like it would take many, many years; I dare not say I have lost it, or
they would think I had stolen it and put me to death. The only thing I
can do is to delay returning the other as long as possible, and try
somehow to get one like it." So next day, when the Ranee sent to
inquire if her bangles were ready, he answered, "They are not ready
yet; they will be ready to-morrow." And the next day and the next he
said the same thing. At last the Ranee's messengers got very angry at
the continued delays; then, seeing he could no longer make excuses,
the Jeweler sent the one bangle by them to the palace, beautifully
cleaned, with a message that the other also would shortly be ready;
but all this time he was hunting for a bangle costly enough to take
the Ranee as a substitute for the one the eagles had carried away.
Such a bangle, however, he could not find.
When Koila reached the town, he spread out a sheet in the corner of a
street near the market-place, and, placing the bangle upon it, sat
down close by, waiting for customers. Now he was very, very handsome.
Although dressed so plainly, he looked like a Prince, and the bangle
he had to sell flashed in the morning light like seven suns. Such a
handsome youth and such a beautiful bangle the people had never seen
before; and many passers-by, with chattees on their heads, for
watching him, let the chattees tumble down and break, they were so
much astonished; and several men and women, who were looking out of
the windows of their houses, leant too far forward and fell into the
street, so giddy did they become from wonder and amazement!
But no one could be found to buy the bangle, for they all said, "We
could not afford to buy such jewels; this bangle is fit only for a
Ranee to wear." At last, when the day had nearly gone, who should come
by but the Jeweler who had been employed to clean Coplinghee Ranee's
bangles, and was in search of one to replace that which the eagles had
stolen. No sooner did he see the one belonging to Chandra, which Koila
was trying to sell, than he said to himself, "That is the very thing I
want, if I can only get it." So he called his wife, and said to her,
"Go to that bangle-seller and speak kindly to him; say that the day is
nearly gone, and invite him to come and lodge at our house for the
night. For if we can make friends with him and get him to trust us, I
shall be able to take the bangle from him and say he stole it from
me. And as he is a stranger here, every one will believe my word
rather than his. This bangle is exactly the very thing for me to take
Coplinghee Ranee, for it is very like her own, only more beautiful."
The Jeweler's wife did as she was told, and then the Jeweler himself
went up to Koila and said to him, "You are a bangle-seller, and I am a
bangle-seller; therefore I look upon you as a brother. Come home, I
pray you, with us, as my wife begs you to do, and we will give you
food and shelter for the night, since you are a stranger in this
country." So these cunning people coaxed Koila to go home with them to
their home, and pretended to be very kind to him, and gave him supper,
and a bed to rest on for the night; but next morning early the Jeweler
raised a hue and cry and sent for the police, and bade them take Koila
before the Rajah instantly, since he had stolen and tried to sell one
of Coplinghee Ranee's bangles, which he (the Jeweler) had been given
to clean. It was in vain that Koila protested his innocence, and
declared that the bangle he had belonged to his wife; he was a
stranger--nobody would believe him. They dragged him to the palace,
and the Jeweler accused him to the Rajah, saying, "This man tried to
steal the Ranee's bangle (which I had been given to clean) and to sell
it. If he had done so, you would have thought I had stolen it, and
killed me; I demand, therefore, that he in punishment shall be put to
death."
Then they sent for the Ranee to show her the bangle, but as soon as
she saw it she recognized it as one of the bangles which had belonged
to Chandra, and burst into tears, crying, "This is not my bangle. Oh,
my lord, no jeweler on earth made this bangle! See, it is different
to mine; and when any one comes near it, it tinkles and all the little
bells begin to ring. Have you forgotten it? This was my beauty's
bangle! My diamond's! My little darling's! My lost child's! Where did
it come from? How did it come here? How into this land, and into this
town and bazaar, among these wicked people? For this Jeweler must have
kept my bangle and brought this one in its place. No human goldsmith's
hands made this, for it is none other than Chandra's." Then she begged
the Rajah to inquire further about it.
But they all thought her mad; and the Jeweler said, "It is the Ranee's
fancy, for this is the same bangle she gave me to clean." The other
people also agreed that both the bangles were almost exactly alike,
and must be a pair; and it being certain that Koila had had the bangle
when he was seized by the police, the Rajah ordered him to be
instantly executed. But the Ranee took Chandra's bangle and locked it
away in a strong cupboard, apart from all her other jewels.
Then they took Koila out into the jungle and would have cut off his
head, but he said to his guards, "If I must die, let me die by my own
hands," and drawing his sword he fell upon it, and as the sword was
very sharp it cut his body in two--one half fell on one side of the
sword, and the other half on the other side--and they left his body
where it fell.
When the news of what had taken place came to the town, many people
who had seen Koila selling his bangle the day before began to murmur,
saying, "There must be some injustice here--the Rajah has been
over-hasty. Most likely the poor man did not steal the bangle. It is
not likely that he would have tried to sell it openly before us all in
the bazaar if it had been stolen property. How cruel of the Rajah to
put such a handsome, gentle, noble-looking youth to death!--and he was
a stranger, too!" And many wept at thought of his hard fate. When the
Rajah heard of this he was very angry, and sent and commanded that the
matter should be no further discussed in the town, saying, "If any one
speaks another word of what has been done, or laments or sheds tears
for the dead, he shall be instantly hanged." Then the people all felt
very frightened, and not a soul dared to speak of Koila, though every
one thought about him much.
Early the very morning that this happened the old milk-seller (at
whose house, which was a little out of the town, Chandra had been
sleeping) took her guest a bowl full of milk to drink; but no sooner
had Chandra tasted it than she began to cry, saying, "Good mother,
what have you done? my mouth is full of blood!" "No, no, my daughter,"
answered the old woman; "you must have been dreaming some bad dream.
See, this is pure, fresh, warm milk I have brought you; drink again."
But when Chandra tasted it for the second time, she answered, "Oh no!
oh no! it is not milk that I taste, but blood. All last night I had a
dreadful dream, and this morning when I woke I found that my marriage
necklace had snapped in two; and now this milk tastes to me as blood.
Let me go! let me go! for I know my husband is dead."
The old woman tried to comfort her, saying, "Why should you fancy he
is dead? he was quite well yesterday, when he went to sell your
bangle; and he said he would come back to you soon; in a little while,
very likely, he will be here." But she answered, "No, no; I feel sure
that he is dead! Oh, let me go! for I must find him before I die."
Then the old woman said, "You must not go; you are too beautiful to
run about through the streets of this strange town alone, and your
husband would be very angry if he saw you doing so; and who knows but
that you might lose your way, and get carried off as a slave;
remember, he told you to stay here till he returned. Be patient;
remain where you are, and I will go quickly into the town and seek
your husband. If he is alive, I will bring him back to you, and if he
is dead I will bring you word." So, taking a chattee full of milk on
her head, as if to sell, she went to the town to find Koila, while
every minute seemed an hour to Chandra until her return.
When the old milk-seller reached the town, she went up and down all
the streets looking for Koila, or expecting to hear some one mention
the handsome stranger who had gone to sell such a wonderful bangle the
day before. But she could not find him, nor did she hear him spoken
of, for all were afraid to say a word about him on account of the
Rajah's decree. Being unable to trace him, the old woman got
suspicious, and began to search, more carefully than before, down all
the streets near the market-place, where she thought he was most
likely to have gone; but, lest people should wonder at her errand, she
called out each time as if she had some different thing to sell.
First, "Buy some milk--who'll buy milk--who'll buy?" Then, on going
for a second time down the same street, "Buy butter--butter! very fine
butter!" and so on. At last one woman, who had been watching her with
some curiosity, said, "Old woman, what nonsense you talk! you have
been half-a-dozen times up and down this same street, as if you had
half-a-dozen different things to sell in that one chattee. Any one
would think you had as little sense as that pretty young bangle-seller
yesterday, who spent all the day trying to sell a bangle, and got put
to death for his pains."
"Of whom do you speak?" asked the old woman. "Oh," said the other, "I
suppose, as you're a milk-seller from the country, you know nothing
about it. But that's not to be talked about, for the Rajah has said
that whoever speaks of him or mourns him shall be instantly hanged.
Ah! he was very handsome."
"Where is he now?" whispered the old woman. "There," answered the
other; "you can see the place where that crowd of people has
collected. The Rajah's Jeweler accused him of having stolen the
bangle; so he was executed, many thought unjustly; but do not say I
said it." And so saying, she pointed toward the jungle some way off.
The old woman ran to the place, but when she there saw two halves of
Koila's body lying side by side, stiff and cold, she threw her earthen
chattee down on the ground and fell on her knees, crying bitterly. The
noise attracted the attention of the Rajah's guards, some of whom
immediately seized her, saying, "Old woman, it is against the law to
lament that dead man or murmur at the Rajah's decree; you deserve to
be put to death." But she answered quickly, "The dead man! I do not
cry for the dead man: can you not see that my chattee is broken and
all the milk spilt? Is it not enough to make one weep?" And she began
to cry again. "Hush! hush!" they answered; "don't cry; come, the
chattee wasn't worth much; it was only an earthen thing. Stop your
tears, and maybe we'll give you a chattee of gold."
"I neither care for your golden chattees nor for silver," she said,
angrily. "Go away; go away! my earthen chattee was worth them all. My
grandfather's grandfather and my grandmother's grandmother used this
chattee; and to think that it should now be broken and all the milk
spilt!" And picking up the broken pieces, she went home sobbing, as if
the loss of her chattee was all her grief. But when she got to her own
house, she ran into where Chandra was, crying, "Alas! my pretty child!
alas, my daughter! your fears are true!" and as gently as she could
she told her what had happened.
No sooner did Chandra hear it than she ran away straight to the
Rajah's palace in the midst of the town, and rushing into the room
where he was, said, "How did you dare to kill my husband?"
Now, at the sound of her voice, her bangle, which the Ranee had locked
up in the cupboard, broke through all the intervening doors and rolled
to Chandra's feet.
The Rajah was unable to answer her a word. Then she fell on her knees
and rent her clothes and tore her hair; and when she tore it all the
land began to burn and all her hair burned too.
Then the old milk-seller, who had followed her, ran and put a lump of
butter on her head, thinking to cool it; and two other woman, who were
by, fetched water to pour upon her hair, but by this time nineteen
lines of houses were in flames. Then the old woman cried, "Oh! spare
the Purwari[104] lines; don't burn them down, for I did all I could
for you." So Chandra did not burn that part of the town near which the
old woman and her friends lived. But the fire burnt on and on in the
other direction; and it killed the Rajah and the Ranee and all the
people in the palace, and the wicked Jeweler and his wife; and as he
was dying Chandra tore out his heart and gave it to the eagles who
hovered overhead, saying, "Here is vengeance for the death of your
little ones." And the Nautch girl, Moulee, and her mother, who were
watching the fire from far off, were smothered in the flames.[105]
[104] Or outcasts'; literally, "the extra-muralists'," _i.e._, the
houses of the lowest classes, not permitted to live within the city
walls.
[105] See Notes at the end.
Then Chandra went to where Koila's dead body lay and wept over it
bitterly; and as she was weeping, there fell down to her from heaven a
needle and thread; and she took them, saying, "Oh, that I could by any
means restore you!" and, placing the two halves of his body side by
side, she sewed them together.
And when she had done this, she cried to Mahdeo, saying, "Sire, I have
done the best I can; I have joined the body; give it life." And as she
said these words Mahdeo had pity on her, and he sent Koila's spirit
back and it returned to his body again. Then Chandra was glad, and
they returned and lived in their own land.
But to this day in the Madura Tinivelly country you can trace where
all the land was burnt.
[Decoration]