In a far country, many years ago, there lived six young men who were
fast friends. One was a Magician’s son, one a Blacksmith’s son, the
third a Doctor’s son, the fourth the son of a Woodcarver, the fifth the
son of a Painter, and the sixth the son of a Prince. Now all these six
lads intended to follow the lives and the work of their fathers, but
before settling down, they all desired to seek some great adventure.
“Let us go forth together,” said they, “and travel into some strange
country, and then perhaps something wonderful may befall us which will
make us rich to the end of our days, or at least give us a goodly tale
to tell our neighbors when we shall have returned and taken up our
fathers’ work.”
So it was agreed among them, and on a certain day, very early in the
morning, all six started out together. For several days they traveled,
choosing always the least known road and going farther and farther from
the country they knew into the unfamiliar lands beyond. Yet no
adventure whatever befell them.
At last they came to a small, round pond into which six streams
emptied, each coming from a different direction. Then said the
Blacksmith’s son:
“Friends, here are six rivers, one for each of us. Suppose we separate,
each choosing one stream and following it alone to its source. It may
be that Dame Adventure is shy and will not meet us all together,
whereas to each of us apart she will bring some rare happening.”
This saying pleased the other five, and they agreed at once.
“Moreover,” said the Magician’s son, “let us each plant a small tree at
the mouth of his chosen river, and I will weave a spell upon them all
so that if aught evil befalls its planter, that tree will wither away.”
“Splendid!” said the Doctor’s son, “and let us agree to return to this
spot at the end of a year and a day. And when we are met, if any one of
us is absent and his tree withered, we will straightway follow his
stream and try to rescue him from his danger.”
The other friends were greatly pleased at these suggestions, and each
of the six set about at once choosing a tree and planting it at the
mouth of one of the streams. When the trees were all planted, the young
men took their stand beside their respective streams while the
Magician’s son went around from one tree to another, weaving a magic
spell about it so that it would wither and die if any ill came to the
one who had planted it. Then, with many handshakes and words of
faithfulness and affection, the six friends parted, each one
disappearing up the bank of the river he had selected.
Now we shall follow the fortunes of the Prince’s son. The underbrush
along the bank of his stream was thick and heavy, so that he must needs
walk slowly and with difficulty. All day long he wandered on, finding
no open space, and hearing nothing but the sound of the water babbling
beside him. At length, however, the banks of the little river began to
widen out, and toward sunset he found himself in an open meadow, with
an old broken well in the middle of it and a dark forest beyond. He was
tired and warm with the long hard walk through the underbrush, so when
he had reached the well, he sat down beside it to rest and cool
himself. He had not been there long before he saw approaching him a
tall and exceedingly beautiful girl with a water pitcher on her
shoulder. Her hair was very long and black, she was clothed in flowing
white linen garments, and she moved across the field bare-footed, with
a light, lithe step. And marvellous to behold, wherever her foot
pressed the soft earth, a white flower sprang into bloom, marking her
course across the meadow in a trail of beauty. While the Prince’s son
was wondering at this and at the unusual loveliness of the girl, she
drew up to the well and lowered her pitcher from her shoulder. He
jumped up at once and, taking it from her hand, offered to draw the
water for her. She said not a word, but when the pitcher was full, she
set forth again across the meadow, leaving him to follow her and carry
it. Over the field and into the woods they went, in the deepening
twilight. The maiden moved with a sure step, quickly and easily among
the trees, but the Prince’s son had great trouble in following her,
often stumbling in the darkness and finding the pitcher of water ever
heavier and harder to carry. At last it grew so dark in the woods that
he could see nothing at all except the gleam of the girl’s white dress
before him, and the water pitcher became so heavy that his shoulder
well-nigh broke with the weight of it, but he struggled on, determined
not to lose sight of his strange and beautiful guide.
Quite unexpectedly they came at length to a little log hut with a
candle shining in the window. As they approached it, the door was
opened by an old man, white-haired, shriveled and bent, with an old,
wrinkled woman beside him.
“Come in, daughter,” said the aged man, motioning to the girl. “Have
you brought the Prince’s son?”
“That I have, Father,” she replied, and her voice was as lovely as her
beautiful face. The Prince’s son entered the little hut, wondering
greatly, and the door was closed behind him.
Without a word of explanation, the aged couple made haste to set before
him a simple, hearty supper, the girl having disappeared meanwhile into
an inner room. When he had finished, as if in answer to his unspoken
thought, the old man said:
“You are doubtless wondering, my son, about the lovely damsel who
abides here with us, and whom you have followed this day to our humble
door. But in truth, sir, it is little enough we can tell you ourselves.
Whence she comes, we know not, though we have cherished and reared her
as our own child. Several years ago we found her on our doorstep, a
little laughing maid as fair as ever the sun looked on, and clothed in
the softest, richest raiment. Right joyfully we took her in, and she
dwelt with us happily day by day, yet never did she say a word by which
we might know whose child she was. A king’s daughter she must be, or
the child of some good spirit. Of late she has spoken much of a change
to come in her life, of a Prince’s son, and of many other things which
we have not understood, but our hearts have been sad within us, fearing
lest the girl prophesied her marriage and separation from us who love
her more than all else in the whole world.”
At this point the Prince’s son eagerly interrupted the old man, saying,
“I pray you, Father, be no longer sad, but hear the great desire of my
heart. I am indeed the son of a Prince, and the maiden is in my eyes
the loveliest and most beautiful creature in the universe. Having once
seen her, I have no further wish in life than to marry her and live
peacefully with her here in this forest, in a house that I shall build
for her with my own hands, near by this hut. Surely the fates have
decreed that this shall be, for have I not traveled far this day in
search of whatsoever Dame Fortune might have in store for me?”
“So be it,” said the other; “needs must you be the destined bridegroom,
the son of a Prince, for had it been otherwise our daughter never would
have led you through the dark forest to our lonely home. Let the
blessing of an old man rest upon you.”
And so it came about that the Prince’s son married the beautiful maiden
of the woods and lived with her in peace and happiness in a little log
house hard by her foster-father’s hut. Days passed by, and weeks, and
ever the two grew more loving and contented, and it seemed as if
nothing could mar the even joy of their lives. But, alas, one day a
great misfortune befell them!
It was warm and sultry, and the two had strolled hand in hand down to
the bank of a rushing stream that ran through the forest. Now the water
looked so very cool and refreshing that the maiden must needs sit on
the mossy bank and dabble her feet and her hands in it. While she was
doing so, a ring slipped from her finger and before she could rescue
it, was borne down the current and out of sight. The poor girl cried
out in dismay, then fell to weeping so bitterly that her husband was
astonished.
“Nay, now,” said he soothingly, “truly a paltry ring is not worth so
many tears. My dearest, when I go again to my father’s kingdom I will
buy you a dozen rings more beautiful than that which you have lost! So
dry your eyes and think no more about it.”
But the girl refused to be comforted. “That ring,” said she between her
sobs, “is a magic one, and its loss will bring all manner of woe to us
both.”
Nor was she mistaken in this. The ring was borne along by the swift
stream for a long distance and was finally washed ashore near the
pleasure gardens of a great Khan. There some one found it and, seeing
that it was a strange ring, curiously wrought, took it at once to the
Khan himself. The monarch looked long upon it, and then, calling his
ministers about him, he said:
“This trinket has magic power about it. I believe that it belongs to a
very beautiful woman, perhaps the daughter of some king. Take it,
therefore, and wheresoever it leads you, follow. And if its owner
indeed proves to be a lovely damsel, take her prisoner and bring her at
once to me, that she may be head over my household.”
The chief minister bowed low, took the ring and called a goodly number
of soldiers and servants to accompany him on his quest. As soon as he
held the magic ring in his hand, he felt a strange power drawing him;
and as he yielded to that power, it led him out of the pleasure gardens
to the bank of the stream, and then up along the bank straight toward
the log hut in the woods. And so, in a very short time, the Khan’s
minister and all his soldiers and servants were standing before the
door of the little house where the Prince’s son and his wife had been
living so happily together, and were calling them to come out at once.
They dared not disobey, and so the unhappy husband led forth the
beautiful damsel, weeping as if her heart would break, and delivered
her to the Khan’s minister. She was taken away at once, and the poor
Prince’s son was left alone to grieve in his lonely little cabin. The
old foster-father and mother were so stricken with sorrow that it
seemed they would die, yet neither did they nor the Prince’s son dare
to do anything against the commands of the great Khan.
Meanwhile the girl was led by the chief minister to the monarch’s
palace. He was delighted with her beauty and charm and paid not the
slightest heed to her tears or prayers to be allowed to return to her
husband. She was made chief of the royal servants, must needs live in
the palace within constant call of the Khan, and there seemed to be no
possible hope of escape. Days passed by, and her sorrow and longing for
her husband became ever greater instead of less, until she began to
grow pale and thin, and those about her feared she would sicken and
die. The Khan, too, noticed the change in her and tried every means in
his power to cheer her, but all in vain. At last he grew angry.
“This husband of hers,” he cried, “is making the fairest of my servants
sickly and plain. But if it is, indeed, longing for him that is eating
the bloom off her cheeks, I will quickly remedy the matter!” And
calling the court executioner, he whispered a few words in his ear.
“There now!” said he later to the damsel, “when you know that your
husband is dead and there is no use in wishing for him any longer, then
perhaps you will forget him and learn to smile again.”
In vain did the poor girl plead with the monarch for her husband’s
life! The more she wept and besought him, the more angry and determined
he became.
So the executioner set out with a number of soldiers and, finding the
log hut in the woods, dragged forth the Prince’s son with little
gentleness and took him afar off to a meadow in which was a dry,
deserted well. Down in this the poor lad was thrust, and a great rock
was rolled over it. There in the darkness he laid him down to die, with
no hope of rescue and no desire for life, anyway, if he could not live
it with his dear and beautiful wife.
Now it happened that the very next day was that on which the six
friends had agreed to meet by the little round pond with the six
streams running into it. And true to their promise, the other five
gathered together and there awaited the coming of the Prince’s son. The
day passed slowly by and he did not appear, and then they noticed that
the tree which he had planted was drooping and withering.
“Our friend is in danger or trouble,” said the Doctor’s son. “Let us
lose no time in searching for him; even now we may be too late to save
him.” The others were alarmed at the ill omen and were eager to start
at once, but the Magician’s son detained them.
“One moment!” said he. “By my magic art I can learn exactly where our
friend is, and then we can go straight to him.” Bidding the others sit
down and wait, he drew a circle on the ground and, placing himself in
the center of it, began to recite all manner of incantations and to
draw figures and signs in the air. After a while he erased the circle
and announced to his friends that he knew the exact whereabouts of the
Prince’s son at that moment. “But we must hurry,” he said, “for he is
in great danger and will surely die unless we rescue him.”
So the five set out at a smart pace and traveled all that night without
pause or rest. By early morning they had reached the well wherein the
Prince’s son was imprisoned.
“How shall we move away the rock?” said they in despair, seeing the
huge boulder completely covering the mouth of the well.
“I will move it!” said the Blacksmith’s son, and taking the heavy iron
hammer which he always carried in his belt, he fell to work upon the
rock, knocking great chunks out of it until it was all broken to
pieces.
When the mouth of the well had thus been opened, they hastily lowered
the Doctor’s son, who found the son of the Prince lying there quite
white and still and nigh unto death.
“It is well they chose me to fetch him up!” he muttered as he drew
forth his bag of medicines. Taking a small flask of red fluid, he
poured the contents of it down the throat of his unconscious friend,
who soon began to stir and then to sit up.
With great difficulty the two were hauled up to the mouth of the well,
and when they were once safely out of it, the friends all embraced with
heartfelt joy and affection. Then the Prince’s son told the tale of his
adventure and its sorry ending, and the other five were full of
compassion for him and indignation against the wicked Khan.
“I have a plan!” suddenly spoke up the Wood-carver’s son. “By my art I
can fashion a great wooden bird, large enough to carry a man, and I
will fit it with wings, hinges and springs so that it will fly through
the air.”
“And I,” cried the Painter’s son, catching the idea at once, “will
paint and adorn it with marvellously beautiful colors, so that it will
look like a Bird of Paradise.”
They were all much excited by this time and prayed the Wood-carver’s
son to tell them more.
“Why, then,” said he, “the Prince’s son shall fly in my wonder bird to
the palace of the Khan—”
“And when that wicked ruler sees the beauty and the color of it,”
interrupted the Painter’s son, “he will go up to the roof to receive
it, with all his royal household, and then—and then——”
“You can snatch up your wife and bear her away!” they all shouted at
once to the Prince’s son, who was fairly trembling with joy and hope.
The Wood-carver’s son fell to work at once, and in no time at all had
built a marvellous wooden bird, big and strong and powerful, with great
broad wings that would carry it through the air at the touch of a
spring. Then the Painter’s son got out his paints and adorned it with
colors rich and fair, so that it shone with beauty like a true Bird of
Paradise. The Prince’s son got into it as soon as it was ready, and,
amid the shouts of his friends, pressed a spring and flew high up into
the air. Then off he steered, straight for the Khan’s royal dwelling.
Great was the excitement at the palace when the big colored bird was
seen flying overhead. Everybody rushed about, asking what it might
mean, and the Khan was the most excited of them all.
“It is a Bird of Paradise!” he cried, “for see you not the gold upon
its wings? It is, doubtless, bearing a messenger to me from the gods!
In truth, we must meet him fittingly!” So he called together all his
royal servants; choosing the wife of the Prince’s son because she was
the fairest of all, he bade her go quickly to the roof and welcome the
strange messenger as he alighted.
The damsel hastened to obey and stood waiting and marvelling as the
great wooden monster drew near. Imagine her joy when it came whirring
to a standstill, disclosing her own dear husband seated within it! In a
flash he had caught her up and before the astonished Khan and his court
could realize what was happening, the “Bird of Paradise” had left the
palace roof far behind and was only a vanishing speck in the distance.
“And did they escape out of the country? And were the five faithful
friends rewarded?” asked the Prince eagerly, as the Siddhi-kur ceased
speaking.
“Indeed, yes!” said he, and he laughed merrily. “The Prince’s son and
his lovely wife, and old foster-father and mother, and the five
companions all left that country and went to live in a fair land, where
they were all happy and prosperous to the end of their days!
“But see now, Prince, you have neglected again the command of
Nagarguna, the wise master. You have opened your lips and broken
silence on the homeward way, and so I am free again—as free as the wind
in my mango tree beside the garden of ghost children!”
And with a shout the Siddhi-kur leaped from his bag and ran off,
leaving the Khan’s son looking disconsolately after him.
“The name of the tale which I shall tell you now,” said the Siddhi-kur,
“is ‘The Secret of the Khan’s Barber.’”
He was again upon the Prince’s back, being borne along toward the
dwelling of the great master, Nagarguna. The Prince nodded his head in
sign of agreement, but he determined this time that no word should pass
his lips, no matter how interested he might become in the story. So,
settling down comfortably in his sack, the Siddhi-kur began.