in his bosom was on his way back from the jungle. But when he reached
the apartments of Duo and gave the necklace into the hands of the evil
Ranee, the breath went out from the Prince's body, and he became as
one dead.
The Rajah was in despair. His grief was now as great as his joy had
been when the child was born. He had a magnificent temple built in the
most beautiful of all his gardens, and in this temple the body of
Dalim Kumar was laid. After this was done the Rajah commanded that the
gates of the garden should be locked, and that no one but the
gardeners should ever enter there on pain of death.
This command was carried out. The garden gates were kept locked, and
no one entered but the men who went there in the daytime to prune the
trees and water the flowers and keep the place in order. Not even Suo
might go into the garden to mourn beside the body of her son.
But though every one believed Dalim Kumar to be dead, such was not
really the case. All day, while Duo wore the necklace, he lay without
breath or sign of life, but in the evening, when the Ranee took the
necklace off, he revived and returned to life. And this happened every
night, for every night the Rajah came to visit Duo, and just before he
came she always took the necklace off and hid it. She feared if he saw
it he might wonder and question her about it.
The wicked Ranee was now satisfied and happy. She believed she had
destroyed the young Prince, and with him the Rajah's love for Suo. For
the Rajah now never went to Suo's apartments. He neither saw her nor
spoke of her, for she only reminded him of his grief for his son.
Now the first time that Dalim Kumar awoke in the temple he was very
much surprised to find himself alone in a strange place, and with no
attendants around him. He arose and went out into the garden, and then
at once he knew where he was, though the temple was new to him. He
went to one gate after another of the garden, intending to go and
return to the palace, but he found them all locked. The gardeners had
gone away for the night, and before going they had securely fastened
the gates, according to the Rajah's orders. The young prince called
and called, but no one heard or answered. Feeling hungry, he plucked
some fruit and ate it, and after that he amused himself as best he
could, playing about among the trees and flowers.
Toward morning he felt sleepy and returned to the temple. He lay down
upon the couch, and later on, when Duo again put on the necklace, his
breath left him, and he became as one dead.
As it had been that night, so it was also in the many nights that
followed. In the evening the Prince revived and came out to play among
the flowers, but with the coming of day he returned to the temple and
lay down on the couch, and all appearance of life left him. After a
time he became used to the strange life he led, and no longer wondered
why he was left there alone and why no one came to seek him.
So year after year slipped by, and from a child the Prince became a
youth, and in all that time he had seen no one, for the gardeners had
always gone away before he returned to life.
Now there lived at this time, in a country far away, a woman who had
one only child, a daughter named Surai Bai. This girl was so beautiful
that she was the wonder of all who saw her. Her hair was as black as
night, her eyes like stars, her teeth like pearls, and her lips as red
as ripe pomegranates.
When this child was born it was foretold to her mother that she would
sometime marry a Prince who was both alive and dead. This prophecy
frightened the mother so much that as soon as her daughter was of a
marriageable age she left her own country and journeyed away into a
far land, taking the girl with her. She hoped that if she went far
enough she might escape the fate that had been foretold for the child.
Journeying on from one place to another, she came at last to the city
where Dalim Kumar's father reigned, and where the garden was, and the
temple where the young prince lay.
It was toward evening when the mother and daughter reached the city,
and it was necessary for them to find some shelter for the night.
Surai Bai was weary, and her mother bade her sit down and rest by the
gate of one of the palace gardens while she went farther to seek a
lodging. As soon as she had found a place where they could stay she
would return for the girl.
So Surai Bai seated herself beside the gate, and there her mother left
her. But the mother had not been gone long when some noise farther up
the street frightened the girl. She looked about for a place to hide,
and it occurred to her that she might go into the garden and wait
there. She tried the gate and found it unfastened, for by some chance
one of the gardeners had forgotten to lock it that evening when he
went away.
Surai Bai pushed the gate open and stepped inside, closing it behind
her. When she looked about her, she was amazed at the beauty of the
garden. The fruit trees were laden with fruits of every kind. There
were winding paths and flowers and fountains, and in the midst of the
garden was a temple shining with gold and wondrous colors.
Though daylight had faded the moon had arisen, and the garden was full
of light. Surai Bai went over close to the temple, wishing to examine
it, but just as she reached the foot of the steps that led up to it a
young man appeared above her at the door of the temple. It was Dalim
Kumar, who had aroused again to life and was coming forth to breathe
the air of the garden.
When he saw Surai Bai he stood amazed, not only at her beauty, which
was so great, but because hers was the first face he had ever seen in
the years he had spent in the garden. As for Surai Bai, never before
had she beheld a youth so handsome, or with such a noble air, and as
the two stood looking at each other they became filled with love for
one another.
Presently Dalim Kumar came down the steps of the temple and took Surai
Bai's hand.
"Who are you, beautiful one?" he asked. "Whence come you, and what is
your name?"
"My name is Surai Bai," answered the girl, "and I come from another
country far away. My mother left me sitting by the gate while she went
to find a lodging for us, but some noise frightened me, and I ran in
here to hide."
"That is a strange thing," said the Prince. "In all the years I have
been living here, the gates have never been unlocked before."
"But do you live here alone?" asked the girl.
"Yes, all alone. Yours is the first face I have seen for years, and
yet I am a Prince, and the son of a great Rajah."
"Then why are you here?"
"I am here because my life was bound up in a golden necklace that lay
buried under the roots of a tree in the jungle. I told the secret to a
Ranee who was my enemy, though I did not know it at the time. She must
in some way have gained possession of the necklace, and now she is
using it for my harm. All day I lie there in the temple as though
dead; no sound reaches me, nothing arouses me; only at night can I
arise and come forth. I, a great prince, am as one both dead and
alive."
When Dalim Kumar pronounced these words Surai Bai could not refrain
from giving a loud cry. She was overcome with amazement and confusion.
The Prince at once wished to know what had moved her so. "Why do you
cry out and change color?" he asked. "And why do you tremble and look
at me so strangely?"
At first Surai Bai would not tell him, but he was so urgent in his
questioning that finally she was obliged to recount to him the
prophecy made at the time of her birth;--that it had been foretold of
her that she was to marry a Prince who was both alive and dead.
Dalim Kumar listened to her attentively. "That is a strange thing,"
said he. "I do not suppose in all the world there is another prince
beside myself who is both alive and dead. If this saying is true, it
must be that I am the one you are to marry. If so, I am very happy,
for already I love you, and if you will stay here with me we will be
married by the ceremony of Grandharva, and I will be a true and loving
husband to you."
To this Surai Bai willingly consented, for already she loved the
prince so dearly that she felt she could not live without him. That
very night she and the Prince presented each other with garlands of
flowers, for that is the ceremony of Grandharva, and so they became
man and wife.
After that they lived together in great happiness, and nothing could
exceed their love for each other. By day, while Dalim Kumar lay
lifeless in the temple, his bride slept also, and at evening they
awoke and talked together and walked through the garden.
But after a while a son was born to the young couple, and after that
Surai Bai was no longer gay and happy. Her look was sad, and often she
stole away from Dalim Kumar to weep in secret.
The Prince was greatly troubled by this. At first he forbore to
question her, but one day he followed her and finding her in tears, he
said, "Tell me, why are you sad and downcast? Have you wearied of this
garden, and are you lonely here; or is it that you no longer love me?"
"Dalim Kumar," answered the girl, "I love you as dearly as ever, and I
am never lonely with you. As long as we had no child I was content to
stay here in the garden and see no one. But now that we have a son I
wish him to be seen by your people, and I wish them to know that he is
the heir to the kingdom."
At this Dalim Kumar became very thoughtful. "My dear wife," said he,
"you are right. Our son should be known as my heir; but every one
believes I died long ago when I was a child. If you went out among
them with the boy and told them he was my son, they would laugh at
you, and either think you were an impostor or that you were crazy. If
we could but gain possession of the necklace, then I could go out from
the garden with you, and if I showed myself to my people they would be
obliged to believe."
"That is what I have thought also," said Surai Bai, "and it has been
in my mind to ask you to give me permission to leave the garden for a
while. If you will do this I will try to gain entrance to the palace
and the apartments of Duo. Then possibly I can find where she keeps
the necklace at night, and I may be able to get possession of it."
Dalim Kumar eagerly agreed to this plan, and the very next day, while
he lay unconscious in the temple, Surai Bai took the child and managed
to steal out through one of the gates without being seen by any of the
gardeners.
She at once sought out a shop in the city and bought for herself the
dress of a hairdresser; then, leading the child by the hand she made
her way to the palace. She told the attendants there that she was very
skillful in dressing the hair, and if they would take her to the
Ranees she was sure she could please them.
After some hesitation the attendants agreed to do this, and led the
way first to the apartments of Suo. When Surai Bai entered the room
and saw her husband's mother sitting there thin and pale and
grief-stricken, her heart yearned over her. But Suo would not so much
as look at the pretended hairdresser. "Why do you bring her here?" she
asked. "I have no wish to look beautiful. My son is dead and my
husband no longer loves me nor comes to me. Take her away and leave me
alone with my sorrow."
The attendants motioned to Surai Bai to come away, and they led her
across the palace to the apartments of Duo.
Here all was bright and joyous. The beautiful Duo lay among the
cushions, smiling to herself and playing with the necklace that hung
about her neck. When she heard that the young woman they had brought
to her was a skilled hairdresser, she sat up and beckoned Surai Bai to
approach.
"Come!" said she. "Let us see how well you can dress my hair. The
Rajah will be here before long, and I must be beautiful for him."
Surai Bai at once came behind Duo and began to arrange her hair. The
child meanwhile kept close by her side. When Surai Bai had almost
finished she managed to loosen the clasp of the necklace so that it
slipped from Duo's neck and fell upon the floor.
This was as the pretended hairdresser had planned, and she had
explained to her son beforehand that when the necklace fell he must
pick it up and hold it tight, and yield it to no one. So now, no
sooner did the necklace slip to the floor, than the child picked it up
and twisted it tight around his fingers.
Duo was frightened. "Give me my necklace," cried she, and reaching
over she tried to take it from the boy, but at this he began to scream
so loudly that it seemed as though the whole palace must be aroused by
his cries.
Duo drew back alarmed and bade the child be quiet. Then she turned to
the pretended hairdresser. "Make him give me the necklace again," she
demanded.
Surai Bai pretended to hesitate. "If I try to take it from him now,"
she said, "he might break it. Have patience, and let him keep it for a
while; he will soon tire of it. Then I can take it from him and bring
it to you."
To this Duo was obliged to agree. It was growing late and she feared
at any moment now the Rajah might come in and that he might notice the
necklace in the child's hands and ask questions about it.
"Very well," she said. "Let him keep it for the present, but bring it
back to me the first thing in the morning. If you neglect to do this
you shall be severely punished,--you and the child also."
The pretended hairdresser made a deep obeisance, and then departed,
carrying the child who still held the necklace tightly clutched in his
hands.
As soon as Surai Bai was outside of the palace she hastened away to
the garden and found Dalim Kumar awaiting her at the gate.
"I know you have the necklace," he cried to her, "for I aroused while
it was still day, and with such a feeling of life and joy as I have
never felt before."
"Yes, it is here," said Surai Bai, and she took the necklace from the
child and held it out to him.
Dalim Kumar gave a cry of joy. His hands trembled with eagerness as he
grasped the necklace. "Oh, my dear wife," he cried, "you have saved
me. I have now again become as other men and can claim what is my own.
Come! Let us return to the palace and to my father and mother."
So, with the child on his arm, and leading Surai Bai by the hand, the
Prince hastened back to the palace. But when he entered the gates no
one knew him, for when they had last seen him he had been only a boy.
They wondered to see a stranger enter in like a master, but his air
was so noble, and his appearance so handsome that no one dared to stop
him.
Dalim Kumar went at once to his mother's apartments, and though no one
else had known him, she recognized him at once, even though he had
become a man. She knew not what miracle had brought him back, but she
fell upon his neck and kissed him, and wept aloud, so that all in the
palace heard the sound of her weeping.
The Rajah was sent for in haste, and when he came Dalim Kumar quickly
made himself known to his father. The Rajah's joy was no less than the
Ranee's over the return of his son.
Soon the news spread through all the palace, and there was great
rejoicing. But Duo was filled with fear. She knew not what punishment
would fall upon her for her evil doings, but she guessed the wrath of
the Rajah would be great. So she fled away secretly and in haste, and
for a long time she wandered about from place to place, miserable and
afraid, and at last died in poverty as she deserved.
But Dalim Kumar and his young wife lived in happiness forever after,
and when the old Rajah died Dalim Kumar became Rajah in his stead, and
his own son ruled after him as Surai Bai and he had desired.
DAME PRIDGETT AND THE FAIRIES
Dame Pridgett was a fat, comfortable, good-natured old body, and her
business in life was to go about nursing sick folk and making them
well again.
One day she was sitting by the window, rocking herself and resting
after a hard week of nursing. She looked from the window, and there
she saw a queer-looking little man come riding along the road on a
great fiery, prancing black horse. He rode up to her door and knocked
without getting off his horse, and when Dame Pridgett opened the door
he looked down at her with such queer pale eyes he almost frightened
her.
"Are you Dame Pridgett?" he asked.
"I am," answered the dame.
"And do you go about nursing sick people?"
"Yes, that is my business."
"Then you are the one I want. My wife is ill, and I am seeking some
one to nurse her."
"Where do you live?" asked the dame, for the man was a stranger to
her, and she knew he was not from thereabouts.
"Oh, I come from over beyond the hills, but I have no time to talk.
Give me your hand and mount up behind me."
Dame Pridgett gave him her hand, not because she wanted to, but
because, somehow, when he bade her do so she could not refuse. He gave
her hand a little pull, and she flew up through the air as light as a
bird, and there she was sitting on the horse behind him. The stranger
whistled, and away went the great black horse, fast, fast as the
wind;--so fast that the old Dame had much ado not to be blown off, but
she shut her eyes and held tight to the stranger.
They rode along for what seemed a long distance, and then they stopped
before a poor, mean-looking house. Dame Pridgett stared about her, and
she did not know where they were. She knew she had never seen the
place before. In front of the house were some rocks with weeds growing
among them, and a pool of muddy water, and a few half-dead trees. It
was a dreary place. Two ragged children were playing beside the door
with a handful of pebbles.
The little man lighted down and helped the old dame slip from the
horse; then he led the way into the house. They passed through a mean
hallway and into a room hung round with cobwebs. The room was poorly
furnished with a wooden bed, a table and a few chairs. In the bed lay
a little, round-faced woman with a snub nose and a coarse, freckled
skin, and in the crook of her arm was a baby so small and weak-looking
the nurse knew it could not be more than a few hours old.
"This is my wife," said the stranger. "It will be your duty to wait on
her and to wash and dress the child."
The baby was so queer looking that Dame Pridgett did not much care to
handle it, but still she had come there as a nurse, and she would do
what was required of her.
The little man showed her where the kitchen was, and she heated some
water and then went back to the bedroom and took up the baby to wash
it. But so strange it all seemed, and she felt so shaken up by her
ride that she was awkward in handling the child, and as she bent her
head over it, it lifted its hand and gave her such a box on the ear
that her head rang with it.
The old dame cried out and almost let the babe fall, she was so
thunderstruck.
"What is the matter?" asked the woman from the bed. Then she slipped
her hand under her pillow and drew out a box of salve. "Here! Rub the
child's eyes with a bit of this," she said, "but be sure you do not
get any of it on your own eyes, or it will be a bad thing for
you,--scarce could be a worse."
The nurse took a bit of the salve on her forefinger and rubbed the
baby's eyes with it, and then the mother bade her go and wash off any
particle of salve that might be left on her finger.
All day Dame Pridgett waited on the mother and child, and when night
came she was shown into a room next to theirs where she was to sleep.
The following day the dame was again kept busy with the mother and
child. She washed the baby and rubbed the salve on its eyelids as
before, and again the mother warned her not to let the least particle
of salve touch her own eyes, or it would be the worse for her.
Food was set out for the nurse in a small room beyond her own. She did
not know whence it came, nor who prepared it, but she was hungry and
ate heartily of it, though it had a strange taste she did not like.
The two ragged children came in and ate with her. They did not speak,
but stared at her from under their matted hair. The little man she did
not see again for some time.
So day followed day, and it was always the same thing over and over
for Dame Pridgett, and every day after she had washed the child she
rubbed salve on its eyelids. Soon its eyes, that had at first been
dull, grew so bright and strong they sparkled like jewels. Dame
Pridgett thought it must be a very fine salve. She would have liked to
try some of it on her own eyes, for her sight was somewhat dim, but
the mother watched her so closely that she never had a chance to use
it.
Now, every day, after Dame Pridgett had washed the baby, she left the
basin on a chair beside her while she rubbed the salve on the child's
eyes. One day she managed to upset the basin with her elbow as though
by accident, though really by design. She gave a cry and bent over to
pick up the basin, and as she did so, unseen by her mistress, she
rubbed her right eye with the finger that still had some salve left on
it.
When Dame Pridgett straightened up and looked about her she could
hardly keep from crying out again at what she saw. The room and
everything in it looked different. Instead of being poor and mean, it
was like a chamber in a castle. Where there had been cobwebs were now
shimmering silken hangings. The bed and all the furniture was of gold,
magnificently carved. The sheets and pillow cases were of silk, and
instead of a coarse, snub-nosed little woman, there among the pillows
lay the most exquisite little lady the old dame had ever set eyes on;
her skin was as fine as a rose leaf, her hair like spun gold, her lips
like coral, and her eyes as bright as stars. The babe, also, from
being a very ordinary looking child, had become the most exquisite
little elfin creature that ever was seen.
Dame Pridgett managed somehow to keep quiet and hide her amazement,
but now she knew very well that it was to fairyland she had come, and
that these were fairy folk.
She made some excuse to go to the window and look out. The change
outside was no less wonderful than that within. The muddy pool she now
saw was a shining lake; the rocks were grottoes; the trees were
covered with leaves and shining fruit, and the weeds were beds of
flowers of wondrous colors, such as she had never seen before. As for
the ragged children, she saw them now as fairy children clothed in the
finest of laces and playing, not with pebbles, but with precious
jewels so brilliant that they fairly dazzled the eyes.
Dame Pridgett managed to keep her mouth shut and acted in such a way
that the fairies never suspected she had used the magic ointment, and
could now see them as they were. But it was only with the right eye,
the one she had touched with the salve, that she could see thus. When
she closed that eye and looked with the other, everything was just as
it had been before, and seemed so mean and squalid it was difficult to
believe it could appear otherwise.
So time went on until the fairy lady was well again and had no need of
a nurse to care for her. Then one day the little man came again on his
black steed and called the old dame out to him.
"You have served us well," said he, "and here is your reward," and he
placed a purse of gold pieces in her hand. Then he caught hold of her
and lifted her up behind him on to the horse, and away they went,
swifter than the wind. Dame Pridgett had to shut her eyes to keep from
growing dizzy and falling off. So it was that when she reached home
she knew no more of the way she had come than she knew of the way she
had gone.
But this was not the last Dame Pridgett saw of the fairy folk. The
little man on the black steed came to her house no more, but there
were other little people about in the world who were now visible to
her salve-touched eye. Sometimes as she came through the wood she
would see them busy among the roots of the trees, setting their houses
in order, or bartering and trading in their fairy markets; or on
moonlight nights she would look out and see them at play among the
flowers in her garden; or she would pass them dancing in fairy rings
in the pastures or meadow lands, but she never told a soul of what she
saw, nor tried to speak to the wee folk, and they were so busy about
their own affairs that they paid no attention to her and never guessed
she could see them.
And then at last came a day (and a sad day it was for Dame Pridgett)
when she again met the little man who had come for her on the great
black horse.
She had gone to market to buy the stuff for a new apron and was
walking along, thinking of nothing but her purchase, when suddenly she
saw the little man slipping about among the market people, never
touching them and unseen by any. He was peeping into the butter
firkins, smelling and tasting, and wherever he found some very good
butter he helped himself to a bit of it and put it in a basket he
carried on his arm.