Long ago, there dwelt by the bank of a river a very poor man who had
nothing in the world but a cow. “If only I had a calf too,” he would
say to himself, “I would be so much better off, for then I could sell
the calf and with the money buy goods and trade with them, and in time
might even become rich.” So he wished and wished for a calf, and prayed
to his gods and recited many magic forms; and every morning he went
hopefully into the shed where his cow was kept, thinking he might find
the longed-for calf beside her. At last, one morning he heard a strange
noise in the shed and rushed out, feeling sure that his wishes and
prayers were at length to be rewarded. What was his surprise when he
reached the shed to see, standing by the cow, not a calf at all, but a
boy, tall and thin and very ragged, with bushy hair and clear brown
eyes. His disappointment and anger rose at the sight.
“What are you doing here, you young beggar?” he shouted. “Trying to
steal my cow, I suppose—the only thing I have in the world!” Seizing a
great staff, he went at the boy as if to kill him, and the lad shrank
back against the wall.
“Kill me not, master!” he cried. “I had no thought of evil towards you.
I am alone and friendless and have come begging you to take me as your
son.”
The man put down his staff and laughed loudly and disagreeably. “My
son!” said he; “as if I did not have enough to do in keeping this poor
body and soul together without taking upon me the care of another! Son,
indeed, when I wanted a calf! Nay, I’ve a mind to kill you for your
folly!” And he advanced angrily toward the boy again.
“But I will not be a care to you,” said the lad, drawing farther away.
“I will bring you riches and happiness, far more than a calf could do!”
The man laughed again. “That is a likely tale!” said he. “Get away from
here! When you show me that wealth and prosperity, then I’ll adopt you
and make you my son, but not before.”
The boy crept to the door and there paused. “Master,” said he, “you
have grown bitter through poverty; but your heart is not so hard and
scornful as are your words. My name is Massang, and I will come again
and bring wealth with me. Such is my promise—farewell!”
The man went back to his hut, pondering deeply and in his heart
regretting the harsh words he had spoken to the boy, while Massang fled
away into the fields.
For a long distance the lad traveled, seeing no one and meeting with no
adventures. At last, however, as he was passing through a fair green
meadow, he came upon a man sitting under a tree, and the color of this
man’s clothing and of his face and hands was as green as the grass
beneath his feet.
“What manner of man are you?” asked Massang, greatly wondering. The man
put his head on one side and looked at him slyly out of small green
eyes.
“I am a youth,” he said, “of good understanding as this world goes, and
I was born as green as the green meadows.”
“Come with me,” said Massang, “and let us live together, for I have
need of you.” So the Green Man arose and followed the boy without a
word.
After awhile they came to a forest so deep and dark that they had great
trouble in making their way through it. And in the very center of it
they found a man sitting upon a log under a tree, and the clothing and
skin of this man were as black as midnight.
“What manner of man are you?” said Massang to him. The man flashed his
dark eyes upon him and said:
“I am a youth of good understanding as this world goes, and I was born
as black as the black forests.”
“Then come with us,” said the boy, “and we will live together. I have
work for you to do.” So the three traveled silently on, through the
woods and out again into the open country.
When they had gone a great distance, they reached a region of rocks and
sand, very bare and white in the sunshine. As they were traversing this
land, they came upon a huge rock, at the foot of which was seated a man
clad in linen, very white, and the color of his face and hands was as
white as the sand about him.
“What manner of man are you?” asked Massang. The man turned and looked
at him, and his eyes were as pale and colorless as his face.
“I am a youth,” said he, “of good understanding as this world goes, and
I was born white—as white as the sand and crystal rocks about me.”
“Then,” said Massang, “we have need of you; come with us, and we four
will live together.”
Not far from this place the four companions spied a little hill whereon
stood a hut, strong and in good condition, but apparently quite
deserted. Here they took up their abode and lived quietly for many days
without any adventures. Every day three would go out to hunt and one
would stay at home and prepare the midday meal, each taking this task
in turn.
Now one morning, Massang, the Black Man and the White Man set forth to
hunt, leaving the Green Man behind them, and at midday they returned,
tired and hungry. To their dismay they found the ground in front of the
hut much cut up by horses’ hoofs and the Green Man standing at the
door, looking thoroughly puzzled and frightened.
“Alas!” he cried. “My comrades, we shall all have to go dinnerless
to-day, for, while I was cooking the stew in the big pot over the fire,
a band of horsemen came upon me and took all that we had in the house,
even the pot itself. Come in and see for yourselves.”
The three entered and, finding no sign of food, were forced to prepare
for themselves a meal from the result of the morning’s hunt, which was
difficult enough with no pot to cook it in. There seemed no reason to
doubt the Green Man’s story, for the marks of the horses’ hoofs were
clear and plain in the soft ground before the door of the hut. But
Massang examined these marks very carefully and then came back and
spoke sternly to the Green Man:
“Comrade, you have dealt falsely with us. However it came about that
you lost our dinner, I know not, but of this I am sure, no horsemen
came to our door this day. You made those hoof marks yourself with a
horseshoe. Tell us now the truth of the matter!” The Green Man gave
Massang a sly, cunning look, but he said nothing.
The next day, having got another pot, Massang, the Green Man and the
White Man set out to hunt, leaving the Black Man to watch the stew and
get everything ready for the noon meal. When they returned, they found
all as it had been the day before; dinner and everything to cook it in
had vanished, the ground in front of the hut was cut up as with horses’
hoofs, and the Black Man was standing at the door empty-handed.
“They came again,” said he, “a band of many horsemen, and they took the
pot of stew from the fire, and all else that I had prepared for you to
eat. I was powerless to fight against them, they were so many.”
But Massang doubted his word, and after he had looked closely at the
marks before the door, he said:
“My friend, these are marks you have made yourself with a horseshoe.
What adventure has befallen you? Why should you hide it from us? I pray
you, tell us the truth.”
The Black Man looked darkly and evilly upon Massang and answered never
a word.
The third day the same thing happened. It was the White Man’s turn this
time to stay at home and prepare the dinner, but he had no better
success than his companions, and had only the same story to tell them
when they returned.
“I am glad,” said Massang, when he had tried in vain to learn the truth
from him, “that to-morrow it will be my turn to play at cook. Mayhap
the same adventure will befall me, and then I shall learn why and how
you three have deceived me.” The three said nothing, but they looked at
each other understandingly.
The next morning, having secured a new pot from a near-by village,
Massang sat down to prepare dinner while the others went forth to hunt.
“There!” said he to himself as he set the pot of stew over the fire,
“now may the adventure that befell my companions come also to me, and
then I shall see whether or no I have more wit than they to meet it!”
For some time there was no sound within or without save the snapping of
the fire, but scarcely had the stew begun to boil before Massang’s
sharp ears caught a little sound of rustling outside the window. He sat
quite still, looking and listening. In a few moments there appeared
over the edge of the window sill the top of a small ladder, and a thin,
sharp voice exclaimed from without:
“Alack-a-day! Alack-a-day! What a steep climb! But methinks I smell a
savory stew cooking within!” Up the ladder, over the window sill and
into the room climbed a little old woman not more than two feet high,
all shriveled and bent, and carrying on her back a bundle no bigger
than an apple.
“Ah!” said she, looking from Massang to the stew and back to Massang
again. “I pray you, son, give a poor old woman a taste of your
stew—just a taste, and then I will be gone and trouble you no more.”
Massang moved as if to give her what she asked, but catching sight of a
very evil smile on her face, he paused.
“It may well be,” thought he to himself, “that this is a wicked witch,
and if I give her a taste of my stew, she will carry off stew, pot and
all, as she very likely did when each of my three companions was here
before. I had best be careful.” Then, turning to the old woman, he
said, “Good mother, right gladly will I give you a taste of my stew,
but it is now much too thick, and I dare not leave it lest it burn. I
pray you fetch me a small pail of water, that I may make it the more
savory, and then you shall have as much as you desire.”
The old woman grunted, being ill pleased, but she took the pail which
Massang handed her and immediately disappeared out of the window. But
she left her little bundle behind her.
Now Massang had purposely given her a pail with a hole in it so that
she would be a long time trying to fill it, and as soon as she had gone
he went to her bundle and opened it. In it were a ball of catgut, an
iron hammer and a pair of iron scissors. As he took these out they grew
larger, and by this he knew for a certainty that she was a witch and
determined to deal very carefully with her. He stowed away the three
treasures in his pocket and put in their place a ball of ordinary cord,
a wooden hammer, and a pair of wooden scissors. As soon as he had
placed these in the bundle, they became as small as the others had
been. Then he went back to his place beside the stew and sat watching
it as if he had never moved. Before long the little witch woman flew in
at the window, tossed down the useless, empty pail and stamped her foot
in a terrible rage.
“Have a care!” she shouted, and her high cracked voice trembled with
anger. “Have a care how you meddle with me! My body is small, but my
power is great! Give me a taste of your stew at once, or it will be the
worse for you!”
Massang looked at her quietly and did not move. “I am not afraid of
your power,” said he. “So long as you taste not my food, you are no
stronger than I.”
“Indeed!” said the old woman, stamping her foot again. “Do you think in
your pride you can match your strength with mine? Well, so be it; let
us see which has the greater power. I will put you to three tests,
after which, if you do not cry aloud for mercy, you may put me to the
same. Come now, do you agree, or does your courage already begin to
fail you?”
“Not in the least!” said Massang, getting up. “Let us have the tests at
once.”
The witch picked up her bundle, opened it and took out the ball of cord
which she thought to be her magic catgut. “First I will bind you with
this,” said she, “and if you succeed in freeing yourself, you can do
the same to me; if not” (and here she laughed scornfully), “you shall
be bound to me, soul and body, to be my slave forever.” Then she flew
at Massang and tied his legs and arms securely with the cord; but as it
was only ordinary cord, and Massang’s strength was great, he very soon
broke loose from it. The old woman howled with rage, but he quickly
seized her and tied her fast with her own magic catgut, and though she
struggled long and hard, she could not work herself free.
“Enough!” cried she at length, panting and weary. “Loose me! You have
won in this test, but it is only the first and the least; there are two
more, and in these you will find yourself easily overcome.” Massang
unwound the catgut from her, and she sprang up, trembling and gnashing
her teeth in anger, while Massang was calm and quiet as if he were
merely playing a little game.
“Tell me, Mother Witch,” said he, “are you the one who has visited our
hut for three days past, and each time spirited away our dinner and the
pot to cook it in?”
The little old woman broke into a cackling laugh. “Indeed, yes,” said
she, “and your three fine companions had not wit enough to save their
dinner! One taste of their food gave me power to carry away all that
they had, and I tell you, it was very pity for their stupid heads which
kept me from bearing them away also, to be my slaves and water
carriers! A likely tale they made up when they were ashamed to own that
a little old woman had got the better of them! Band of horsemen! Ha!
Ha! And it was only little me! But come, the second test, and if you
fail in that, young man, as you surely will, you will die; there will
be no mercy for you!” With that, she snatched from her bundle the
wooden mallet, not stopping to notice that it was not her own iron one.
She flew savagely at Massang and began to beat upon his head with it,
shouting:
“There, now! There, now! Cry for mercy before I hammer out your
brains!” But the blows fell upon Massang’s head as lightly as the blows
of a tiny stick, and he laughed aloud, bidding her hammer away,—it
quite amused him!
At length, weary and breathless, she paused. “And now,” said Massang,
“you must let me do the same to you!” Taking the witch’s iron hammer
from his pocket, he brought it down upon her head with great force.
The old woman clapped her hands to her head, uttered a shriek, leaped
into the air and flew out through the window. Just at that minute the
Black Man, the Green Man and the White Man, having returned from the
hunt, appeared in the doorway.
“Quick! Quick!” cried Massang, pushing past them. “Let us follow the
little witch woman! She is wounded and will fly right to her lair. Come
with me, quick, and follow her!” So the four dashed out of the hut and
after the old witch as fast as they could go. She flew low in the sky
like a great bird, and every now and then a drop of black blood fell to
the ground from the wound in her head. At first she flew so fast that
Massang, with the other three behind him, had great difficulty in
keeping up with her, but after awhile she began to waver and fly
unevenly. By this time the four found themselves running over a barren
stretch of land, very rough and uneven, and they stumbled and fell more
than once, but as the flight of the witch became ever slower, they
managed to keep her in sight. At last they saw her fall to the ground
and lie quite still, and running up to her, they found she was dead.
“An evil old witch,” said Massang, “yet I meant not to kill her—only to
wound and drive her away.”
“She would have killed you quickly enough,” said the three, “and us
too, if we had let her!”
Looking around them, they saw near by the mouth of a deep, dark cave.
“This must be her lair,” said Massang, “and no doubt it is filled with
treasure; let us go down and see.” But apparently there was no way of
getting down. The cave was so deep they could scarcely see the bottom
of it, and the sides were steep and smooth as polished marble.
Massang, however, found that he still had in his pocket the ball of
magic catgut. This he unwound and, finding it would reach to the bottom
of the cave, bade his companions hold one end of it firmly while he
climbed down upon it. Inside the cave the light was very dim, but as
soon as his eyes became accustomed to it, he saw, lying in great heaps
upon the floor, gold and silver, diamonds, rubies, emeralds and all
manner of precious stones. He shouted joyfully up to his companions,
who were leaning over the mouth of the cave. “Fetch bags,” said he,
“big bags, and I will fill them with treasure; then you shall pull them
up with the catgut, and afterwards we will divide the spoil and be all
four rich and prosperous for the rest of our lives!”
The three men hurried back to the hut to get bags, and while they were
gone, Massang roamed around the cave, which was large and full of dark
corners heaped high with treasure. He had scarcely finished looking
about when he heard the Green Man shouting to him from above. Then bags
were thrown down, and he filled them to the brim with gleaming gold and
precious stones. All the rest of the day until darkness covered them,
they were busy, Massang filling bags and the three men hauling them up,
emptying them and sending them down again to be refilled. At last
Massang called up, saying it was too dark for him to see further, and
the cave was pretty well cleared out, anyway. He fastened the catgut
around his waist and bade his companions draw him up. But to his dismay
he saw the Green Man leaning over the mouth of the cave, with an evil
smile on his face and a knife in his hand.
“Now, Master Massang,” said the Green Man, and his voice sounded harsh
and cruel, “if you think we are going to drag you up to share the
spoil, you are much mistaken! There will be just so much more for us if
you are not here! So farewell, and peace be to your bones. You will
never be able to get out of this cave to tell tales on us!”
With that he cut the catgut and disappeared, and Massang could hear the
three talking together and then moving away. All night long he could
hear them coming and going. Evidently they were bearing away the
treasure. When morning came, there was not a sound, and Massang knew
that he was quite deserted. He sat down on the floor of the cave and
buried his face in his hands, and his heart was very heavy. But after a
while he got up and looked around, thinking that he would not despair
until he had made sure there was no possible way of getting out of the
cave. A careful search showed him there was nothing left to make use of
but a handful of neglected gold and three cherry pits. These he picked
up. “It is my last and only hope,” he thought, and aloud he said, “By
all the power of good magic, I wish that I may find a way out of this
cave to light and freedom.” Then he buried the cherry pits directly
beneath the mouth of the cave. Scarcely had he done so when a great
wave of drowsiness came over him and, lying down on the ground, in a
few moments he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When he awoke he found to his astonishment three young cherry trees
standing tall and straight beside him, and the top of the tallest of
these reached up to the mouth of the cave. He jumped up joyfully and
stretched himself. In reality he had been asleep for several years, yet
it seemed no more to him than so many hours. It was easy enough now to
climb up the cherry tree and out of the cave, and glad indeed he was to
be free again and out in the sunshine. He tramped eagerly along until
he came to a hut where he bought food, paying for it with some of the
gold which he had brought up in his pockets from the witch’s cave.
It were long to tell of all Massang’s wanderings after that. He
traveled far and wide, ever searching for his false companions, until
at last, after many weeks, he came upon three very elegant houses
surrounded by beautiful grounds, and with every sign of prosperity and
wealth about them. These houses, he soon learned, belonged to his
wicked friends,—the Green Man, the Black Man and the White Man. At the
time all three were away upon a hunting trip, so Massang procured a
stout staff and took up his stand by a gateway through which they must
pass on their way home.
He had not waited very long before he spied them in the distance,
coming toward him. They walked gaily enough, never thinking of trouble,
and did not even see him until they had got quite close to him. Massang
stood directly in their path, his staff in his hands. The Green Man saw
him first and, giving a cry of fear, fell at his feet. Then the other
two saw him, and they also fell trembling before him. “It is Massang,”
they cried, “or his ghost come for vengeance! Surely now we are
doomed!”
“Get up!” said Massang sternly, touching them with his staff. “Get up!
I am no ghost but Massang indeed, whom you left to die miserably in the
witch’s cave. I had intended to slay you with this staff, for your
falseness and cruelty—but you are too base and cowardly to touch!”
The three still lay trembling and grovelling upon the ground. “Alas!
good Master,” cried the Black Man, “we have suffered enough already
because of our evil deed. With all our wealth we have been wretchedly
unhappy and have found neither peace by day nor sleep by night!”
“That is indeed true!” groaned the White Man. “We will give you all our
wealth and become beggars, if you will but forgive us and let us go
away unharmed.” And even the Green Man nodded his head in token of
agreement. At this the heart of Massang was softened.
“Come!” said he. “Get up and we will talk it over.” And when they had
risen to their feet, he said, “This much I will require of you; let
each of you take half of his wealth and go with it to the bank of a
certain river. There you will find a poor man who has nothing in all
the world save only one cow. Give him the treasure that you have
brought, and say to him, ‘Your son, Massang, sends you wealth and
prosperity with his love.’ Do this faithfully, and I will freely
forgive you.”
The men readily promised to do all that Massang had bidden them, and in
a few days he saw for himself the three starting forth at the head of a
great train of mules laden with wealth and treasure of every sort.
“And did they find the poor man with the one cow?” asked the Khan’s
son. “Go on! You haven’t finished!”
“Yes, they found him,” said the Siddhi-kur, with a laugh. “And they
poured out their wealth before him, and when Massang came shortly
afterwards, you may be sure the old man received him and kept him as a
well loved son.
“But you, O Prince, you have forgotten the words of the wise Nagarguna!
You have broken silence on the homeward way, and so now you have no
further power over me.” With a shout of joy, the Siddhi-kur leaped from
the bag on the Prince’s back and sped away into the distance. Nor did
the Khan’s son set eyes on him again until he had retraced his steps
through all the dangers and hardships he had met before and stood once
more under the mango tree in the cool grove beside the garden of ghost
children.
Seeing him so persistent in his mission, the Siddhi-kur made no
objections to being taken again, and allowed himself to be tied into
the magic bag with the cord of a hundred threads and tossed once more
on to the Prince’s back. After they had traveled a long time in silence
and were both grown weary, he suggested again that some wonder tale be
told, and receiving no answer from the Prince but a nod of agreement,
he began at once.