searched under every step, but no one was there, so went away again.
All might now have been well, but the workman's mischievous little
daughter chanced to come by that way again. At once she espied the
banyan trees and the rose-bush. "It is a curious thing that I never
saw these trees before," she thought. "I will gather a bunch of
roses."
She ran past the banyan trees without giving them a thought and began
to break the flowers from the rose-tree. At once a shiver ran through
the tree, and it cried to her in a pitiful voice: "Oh! oh! you are
hurting me. Do not break my branches, I pray of you. I am a little
girl, too, and can suffer just as you might."
The child ran back to her father and caught him by the hand. "Oh, I am
frightened!" she cried. "I went to gather some roses from the
rose-tree, and it spoke to me;" and she told him what the rose-tree
had said.
At once the workman went off and repeated to the Ranee what his little
daughter had told him, and the Queen gave him a piece of gold and sent
him away, bidding him keep what he had heard a secret.
Then she called the wicked nurse to her and repeated the workman's
story. "What had we better do now?" she asked.
"My advice is that you give orders to have all the trees cut down and
burned," said the nurse. "In this way you will rid yourself of the
children altogether."
This advice seemed good to the Ranee. She sent men and had the trees
cut down and thrown in a heap to burn.
But heaven had pity on the children, and just as the men were about to
set fire to the heap a heavy rain storm arose and put out the fire.
Then the river rose over its banks, and swept the little trees down on
its flood, far, far away to a jungle where no one lived. Here they
were washed ashore and at once took on their real shapes again.
The children lived there in the jungle safely for twelve years, and
the brothers grew up tall and straight and handsome, and the sister
was like the new moon in her beauty, so slim and white and shining was
she.
The brothers wove a hut of branches to shelter their sister, and every
day ten of them went out hunting in the forest, and ten of them stayed
at home to care for her. But one day it chanced they all wished to go
hunting together, so they put their sister up in a high tree where she
would be safe from the beasts of the forest, and then they went away
and left her there alone.
The twenty brothers went on and on through the jungle, farther than
they had ever gone before, and so came at last to an open space among
the trees, and there was a hut.
"Who can be living here?" said one of the brothers.
"Let us knock and see," cried another.
The Princes knocked at the door and immediately it was opened to them
by a great, wicked-looking Rakshas. She had only one red eye in the
middle of her forehead; her gray hair hung in a tangled mat over her
shoulders, and she was dressed in dirty rags.
When the Rakshas saw the brothers she was filled with fury.
She considered all the jungle belonged to her, and she was not willing
that any one else should come there. Her one eye flashed fire, and she
seized a stick and began beating the Princes, and each one, as she
struck him, was turned into a crow. She then drove them away and went
back into her hut and closed the door.
The twenty crows flew back through the forest, cawing mournfully. When
they came to the tree where their sister sat they gathered about her,
trying to make her understand that they were her brothers.
At first the Princess was frightened by the crows, but when she saw
there were tears in their eyes, and when she counted them and found
there were exactly twenty, she guessed what had happened, and that
some wicked enchantment had changed her brothers into this shape. Then
she wept over them and smoothed their feathers tenderly.
After this the sister lived up in the tree, and the crows brought her
food every day and rested around her in the branches at night, so that
no harm should come to her.
Some time after this a young Rajah came into that very jungle to hunt.
In some way he became separated from his attendants and wandered
deeper and deeper into the forest, until at length he came to the tree
where the Princess sat. He threw himself down beneath the tree to
rest. Hearing a sound of wings above him the Rajah looked up and was
amazed to see a beautiful girl sitting there among the branches with a
flock of crows about her.
The Rajah climbed the tree and brought the girl down, while the crows
circled about his head, cawing hoarsely.
"Tell me, beautiful one, who are you? And how come you here in the
depths of the jungle?" asked the Rajah.
Weeping, the Princess told him all her story except that the crows
were her brothers; she let him believe that her brothers had gone off
hunting and had never returned.
"Do not weep any more," said the Rajah. "You shall come home with me
and be my Ranee, and I will have no other but you alone."
When the Princess heard this she smiled, for the Rajah was very
handsome, and already she loved him.
She was very glad to go with him and be his wife. "But my crows must
go with me," she said, "for they have fed me for many long days and
have been my only companions."
To this the Rajah willingly consented, and he took her home with him
to the palace; and the crows circled about above them, following
closely all the way.
[Illustration: The Rajah brought the girl down, while the crows circled
about his head.]
When the old Rajah and Ranee (the young Rajah's father and mother) saw
what a very beautiful girl he had brought back with him from the
jungle they gladly welcomed her as a daughter-in-law.
The young Ranee would have been very happy now in her new life, for
she loved her husband dearly, but always the thought of her brothers
was like a weight upon her heart. She had a number of trees planted
outside her windows so that her brothers might rest there close to
her. She cooked rice for them herself and fed them with her own hands,
and often she sat under the trees and stroked them and talked to them
while her tears fell upon their glossy feathers.
After a while the young Ranee had a son, and he was called Ramchundra.
He grew up straight and tall, and he was the joy of his mother's eyes.
One day, when he was fourteen years old, and big and strong for his
age, he sat in the garden with his mother. The crows flew down about
them, and she began to caress and talk to them as usual. "Ah, my dear
ones!" she cried, "how sad is your fate! If I could but release you,
how happy I should be."
"Mother," said the boy, "I can plainly see that these crows are not
ordinary birds. Tell me whence come they, and why you weep over them
and talk to them as you do?"
At first his mother would not tell him, but in the end she related to
him the whole story of who she was, and how she and her brothers had
come to the jungle and had lived there happily enough until they were
changed into crows; and then of how the Rajah had found her and
brought her home with him to the palace.
"I can easily see," said Ramchundra, when she had ended the tale,
"that my uncles must have met a Rakshas somewhere in the forest and
have been enchanted. Tell me exactly where the tree was--the tree
where you lived--and what kind it was?"
The Ranee told him.
"And in which direction did your brothers go when they left you?"
This also his mother told him. "Why do you ask me these questions, my
son?" she asked.
"I wish to know," said Ramchundra, "for sometime I intend to set out
and find that Rakshas and force her to free my uncles from her
enchantment and change them back to their natural shapes again."
His mother was terrified when she heard this, but she said very little
to him, hoping he would soon forget about it and not enter into such a
dangerous adventure.
Not long afterward Ramchundra went to his father and said, "Father, I
am no longer a child; give me your permission to ride out into the
world and see it for myself."
The Rajah was willing for him to do this and asked what attendants his
son would take with him.
"I wish for no attendants," answered Ramchundra. "Give me only a
horse, and a groom to take care of it."
The Rajah gave his son the handsomest horse in his stables and also a
well-mounted groom to ride with him. Ramchundra, however, only allowed
the groom to go with him as far as the edge of the jungle, and then he
sent him back home again with both the horses.
The Prince went on and on through the forest for a long distance until
at last he came to a tree that he felt sure was the one his mother had
told him of. From there he set forth in the same direction she told
him his uncles had taken. He went on and on, ever deeper and deeper
into the forest, until at last he came to a miserable looking hut. The
door was open, and he looked in. There lay an ugly old hag fast
asleep. She had only one eye in the middle of her forehead, and her
gray hair was tangled and matted and fell over her face. The Prince
entered in very softly, and sitting down beside her, he began to rub
her head. He suspected that this was the Rakshas who had bewitched his
uncles, and it was indeed she.
Presently the old woman awoke. "My pretty lad," said she, "you have a
kind heart. Stay with me here and help me, for I am very old and
feeble, as you see, and I cannot very well look out for myself."
This she said not because she really was old or feeble, but because
she was lazy and wanted a servant to wait on her.
"Gladly will I stay," answered the lad, "and what I can do to serve
you, that I will do."
So the Prince stayed there as the Rakshas' servant. He served her hand
and foot, and every day she made him sit down and rub her head.
One day, while he was rubbing her head and she was in a good humor he
said to her, "Mother, why do you keep all those little jars of water
standing along the wall? Let me throw out the water so that we may
make some use of the jars."
"Do not touch them," cried the Rakshas. "That water is very powerful.
One drop of it can break the strongest enchantment, and if any one has
been bewitched, that water has power to bring him back to his own
shape again."
"And why do you keep that crooked stick behind the door? To-morrow I
shall break it up to build a fire."
"Do not touch it," cried the hag. "I have but to wave that stick, and
I can conjure up a mountain, a forest, or a river just as I wish, and
all in the twinkling of an eye."
The Prince said nothing to that, but went on rubbing her head.
Presently he began to talk again. "Your hair is in a dreadful tangle,
mother," he said. "Let me get a comb and comb it out."
"Do not dare!" screamed the Rakshas. "One hair of my head has the
power to set the whole jungle in flames."
Ramchundra again was silent and went on rubbing her head, and after a
while the old Rakshas fell asleep and snored till the hut shook with
her snoring.
Then, very quietly, the Prince arose. He plucked a hair from the old
hag's head without awakening her, he took a flask of the magic water
and the staff from behind the door, and set out as fast as he could go
in the direction of the palace.
It was not long before he heard the Rakshas coming through the jungle
after him, for she had awakened and found him gone.
Nearer and nearer she came, and then the Prince turned and waved the
crooked stick. At once a river rolled between him and the Rakshas.
Without pause the Rakshas plunged into the river and struck out
boldly, and soon she reached the other side.
On she came again close after Ramchundra. Again he turned and waved
the staff. At once a thick screen of trees sprang up between him and
the hag. The Rakshas brushed them aside this way and that as though
they had been nothing but twigs.
On she came, and again the Prince waved the staff. A high mountain
arose, but the Rakshas climbed it, and it did not take her long to do
this.
Now she was so close that Ramchundra could hear her panting, but the
edge of the jungle had been reached. He turned and cast the Rakshas'
hair behind him. Immediately the whole jungle burst into fire, and the
Rakshas was burned up in the flames.
Soon after the Prince reached the palace and hastened out into the
garden. There sat his mother weeping, with the crows gathered about
her. When she saw Ramchundra she sprang to her feet with a scream of
joy and ran to him and took him in her arms.
"My son! my son! I thought you had perished!" she cried. "Did you meet
the Rakshas?"
"Not only did I meet her, but I have slain her and brought back with
me that which will restore my uncles to their proper shapes," answered
the Prince.
He then dipped his fingers into the jar he carried and sprinkled the
magic water over the crows. At once the enchantment was broken, and
the twenty Princes stood there, tall and handsome, in their own proper
shapes.
The Ranee made haste to lead them to her husband and told him the
whole story. The Rajah could not wonder enough when he understood that
the Princes were his wife's brothers, and were the crows she had
brought home with her.
He at once ordered a magnificent feast to be prepared and a day of
rejoicing to be held throughout all the kingdom.
Many Rajahs from far and near were invited to the feast, and among
those who came was the father of the Ranee and her brothers, but he
never suspected, as he looked upon them, that they were his children.
Before they sat down to the feast the young Ranee said to him, "Where
is your wife Guzra Bai? Why has she not come with you? We had expected
to see her here?"
The Rajah was surprised that the young Ranee should know his wife's
name, but he made some excuse as to why Guzra Bai was not there.
Then the young Rajah said, "Send for her, I beg of you, for the feast
cannot begin till she is here."
The older Rajah was still more surprised at this. He could not think
any one was really concerned about Guzra Bai, and he feared the young
Rajah wished, for some reason, to quarrel with him. But he agreed to
send for his wife, and messengers were at once dispatched to bring
Guzra Bai to the palace.
No sooner had she come than the young Ranee began to weep, and she and
the Princes gathered about their mother. Then they told the Rajah the
whole story of how his mother and the nurse had sought to destroy
Guzra Bai and her children, and how they had been saved, and had now
come to safety and great honor.
The Rajah was overcome with joy when he found that Guzra Bai was
innocent. He prayed her to forgive him, and this she did, and all was
joy and happiness.
As for the old Ranee, she was shut up in the tower where Guzra Bai had
lived for so many years, but the old nurse was killed as befitted such
a wicked woman.
LIFE'S SECRET
A STORY OF BENGAL
In a far-off country there once lived a great Rajah who had two wives,
one named Duo and the other Suo. Both these Ranees were beautiful, but
Duo was of a harsh and cruel nature, while Suo was gentle and kind to
all.
Though the Rajah had been married to his Ranees for some time they
neither of them had any children, and this was a great grief to every
one. Daily prayers were offered up in the temples for the birth of a
son to the Rajah, but the prayers remained unanswered.
One day a beggar, a holy man who had vowed to live in poverty, came to
the palace asking for alms. Duo would have had him driven away, but
Suo felt compassion for him. She gave him the alms he asked and bade
him sit in the cool of the courtyard to rest.
The beggar thanked her and ate the food she gave him. Just before he
left, he asked to speak to her in private. This favor Suo granted him.
She stepped aside with him, and as it so happened this brought them
directly under the windows of Duo's apartments.
"Great Ranee, you have been very kind to me," said the beggar, "and I
wish to reward you. I know that for years you have desired to have a
son, but that this wish has not been granted. Now listen! In the midst
of the jungle over beyond the city there grows the most wonderful tree
in all the world. Its trunk is silver, and its leaves are of gold.
Once in every hundred years this tree bears a single crimson fruit.
She who eats this fruit, whosoever she may be, shall, within a year,
bear a son. This is that hundredth year,--the year in which the tree
bears fruit, and I have gathered that fruit and have it here."
So saying, the beggar drew from among his rags a piece of silk
embroidered with strange figures. This he unfolded, and showed to the
Ranee, lying within it, a strange fruit such as she had never seen
before. It was pear shaped, and of such a vivid red that it seemed to
pulse and glow with light.
Suo looked at it with wonder and awe.
"If you wish to have it, it is yours," the beggar continued. "But I
must tell you one other thing. Whoever eats this fruit shall indeed
bear a son, but he will not be as other children. His life will not be
altogether within himself as with other people; it will be bound up
with an object quite outside of himself. If this object should fall
into the hands of an enemy that enemy could, by willing it, bring upon
him misfortune or even death, and this no matter how closely the child
was watched and guarded. And now, knowing this, do you still wish to
eat the fruit?"
"Yes, yes!" cried Suo.
"Then I will tell you what this object is and where it is to be
found," said the beggar. He drew still closer to the Ranee and
whispered in her ear, but though what he told her was so important Suo
paid but little attention to it; she thought only of the fruit, and
the happiness that might come to her if she ate it.
Now all the while the beggar had been talking to Suo, Duo had been
seated at her window just above them, and she overheard all that was
said. Only when the beggar came closer to Suo and whispered in her ear
Duo could not hear what he said, though she leaned out as far as she
could and strained her ears to listen. So, though she had learned that
if Suo had a child its life would depend on some object outside of
itself, she did not learn what that object was.
The beggar now gave the fruit to Suo, and she took it and ate all of
it. Not one seed or bit of rind did she miss. After that she went back
to her own apartments to dream upon the joy that might be coming to
her.
Within the year, even as the beggar had promised, Suo bore a child,
and this child was so large and strong and handsome that he was the
wonder of all who saw him.
The Rajah was wild with joy. He could scarcely think or talk of
anything but his son, and he showered gifts and caresses upon the
happy mother. Duo was quite forgotten. He never even went near her
apartments, and her heart was filled with jealousy and hatred toward
Suo and the little prince Dalim Kumar,--for so the child was named.
Nothing would have given her more joy than to be able to injure them
and bring sorrow and misfortune upon them.
Now as Dalim Kumar grew older he became very fond of a flock of
pigeons that his father had given him, and he spent a great deal of
time playing with them in the courtyard. They were so tame they would
come at his call and light upon his head and shoulders. Sometimes they
flew in through the windows of Duo's apartments which overlooked the
courtyard. Duo scattered peas and grain on the floor for them, and
they came and ate them. Then one day she caught two or three of them.
Soon after Dalim Kumar missed his pigeons and began calling them.
Duo leaned from her window. "Your pigeons are up here," she cried. "If
you want them you must come up and get them."
Suo had forbidden her son to go to Duo's apartments, but he quite
forgot this in his eagerness to regain his pets, and he at once ran up
to the Ranee's apartments.
Duo took him by the wrist and drew him into her room. "You shall have
your pigeons again," said she, "but first there is something you must
tell me."
"What is it?" asked Dalim Kumar.
"I wish to know where your life lies and in what object it is bound
up."
Dalim Kumar was very much surprised. "I do not know what you mean,"
said he. "My life lies within me, in my head and my body and my limbs,
as it is with every one."
"No, that is not so," said Duo. "Has your mother never told you that
your life is bound up in something outside of yourself?"
"No, she has never told me that, and moreover I do not believe it."
"Nevertheless it is so," said Duo. "If you will find out what this
thing is and come and tell me you shall have your pigeons again, and
if you do not do this I will wring their necks."
Dalim Kumar was greatly troubled at the thought of harm coming to his
pigeons. "No, no! You must not do that," he cried. "I will go to my
mother and find out what she knows, and if there is indeed truth in
what you say I will come back at once and tell you the secret. But you
must do nothing to my pigeons while I am gone."
To this Duo agreed. "There is another thing you must promise," said
she. "You must not let your mother know I have asked you anything
about your life. If you do I will wring your pigeons' necks even
though you tell me the secret."
"I will not let her know," promised the boy, and then he hastened away
to his mother's apartments. When he came to the door he began to walk
slowly and with dragging steps. He entered in and threw himself down
among some cushions and closed his eyes.
"What ails you, my son?" asked his mother. "Why do you sit there so
quietly instead of playing about?"
"Nothing ails me now," answered the boy, "but there is something that
I wish to know, and unless you tell me I am sure I shall be quite
ill."
"What is it that you wish to know, my darling?"
"I wish to know where my life lies, and in what it is bound up,"
answered the boy.
When Suo heard this she was very much frightened.
"What do you mean?" she cried. "Who has been talking to you of your
life?"
Then Dalim said what was not true, for he feared that harm might come
to his pigeons. "No one has been talking to me," said he, "but I am
sure that my life lies somewhere outside of me, and if you will not
tell me about it I will neither eat nor drink, and then perhaps I may
die."
At last Suo could withstand him no longer. "My son," she said, "it is
as you have guessed. You are not as other children. Your life is bound
up in some object outside of yourself, and if this object should fall
into the hands of an enemy the greatest misfortunes might come upon
you, and perhaps even death."
"And what is this object?" asked the boy.
Again Suo hesitated. Then she said:
"The beggar told me that under the roots of that same tree that bore
the fruit lies buried a golden necklace, and it is with that necklace
that part of your life is bound up."
Now that Dalim Kumar knew the secret he was content, and smiled upon
his mother and caressed her, and ate some of the sweetmeats she had
prepared for him. Then he ran away to get his pigeons.
Duo was waiting for him impatiently. "Have you found out the secret of
your life?" she demanded.
"Yes," answered the Prince. "It is bound up in a golden necklace that
lies buried under the roots of a tree over in the jungle,--a tree with
a silver trunk and golden leaves. And now give me my pigeons."
Duo was very willing to do this; she had no longer any use for them.
She placed the cage in which she had put them in his hands and pushed
him impatiently from the room.
As soon as the boy had gone the Ranee sent for a man upon whom she
could depend and told him what she wished him to do. She wished him to
go into the jungle and search until he found a tree with a silver
trunk and golden leaves. He was then to dig down about its roots until
he found a golden necklace that lay buried there. This necklace he was
to bring to her, and in return for his services she would give him a
lac of gold mohurs.
The man willingly agreed to do as she wished and at once set out into
the jungle. After searching for some time he at last found the tree
and began to dig about its roots.
Now at the very time this happened Dalim Kumar was with his mother
playing about in her apartment. But no sooner did the man in the
jungle begin to dig about the tree than the boy gave a cry and laid
his hand upon his heart. At the same time he became very pale.
"What is the matter, my son?" cried his mother anxiously. "Are you
ill?"
"I do not know what is the matter," answered the Prince, "but
something threatens me."
His mother put her arm about him, and at the very moment she did so
the man who had been digging found the necklace and picked it up, and
at that the young Prince sank back senseless in his mother's arms.
The Ranee was terrified. She sent at once for the Rajah, and
physicians were called in, but none of them could arouse the child nor
could they tell what ailed him. He lay there among the cushions where
they had placed him still breathing, but unconscious of all around
him.