Once upon a time, long, long ago, there lived in the East a mighty
Khan. He had broad, fertile lands to rule over and many thousands of
faithful subjects, but though he governed wisely and well, the country
was filled with discontent, and for a very good reason. Never did the
Khan permit himself to be seen by his people, and he even obliged his
courtiers and advisers to address him from behind tapestries and never
allowed any of them to look upon his face. And this was not the worst,
by any means. Every once in so often a youth was chosen from among the
people, and was taken to the palace, where he was dressed in gorgeous
attire, and then led into the presence of the Khan. There he was bidden
to act as barber and cut the monarch’s hair, and after he had done so
he invariably disappeared and was never seen or heard of again. Of
course, it was easy to guess that he had been put to death. Needless to
say, the fathers and mothers of young men lived in constant dread and
hated the Khan with their whole hearts, yet they had no power to
withstand his orders.
Now it happened one day that the Khan’s messenger stopped at the house
of a widow who had only one child,—a fine, handsome lad whom she loved
better than life itself. It had fallen to the lot of this youth,
Daibang by name, to be the Khan’s barber on the following day; but when
the widow heard the news, instead of vainly weeping and complaining as
others had done, she went at once to her kitchen, for she had devised a
plan whereby her son might yet be saved. With great care she baked some
little cakes of rice flour and milk, very light and fine and tempting
to look upon, and into them she kneaded the great love that filled her
heart for her son. Then calling him to her, she said:
“Daibang, on the morrow you must go to the palace to cut the Khan’s
hair, and after that, what fate may befall you we may not know, but we
can very well guess. Then do exactly as I bid you, and my heart tells
me you will escape the hard lot that has come to so many others. Take
with you these cakes which I have baked for you with loving care, and
while you are performing your duty to the Khan, manage to eat one of
them so that he will see you do it. He will then ask to taste one
himself, and when he has eaten of it he will wish to know what it is
made of. Tell him that your mother made these cakes, of rice flour and
milk, and that she kneaded into them her love and prayers for you.
After that I think he will not find it in his heart to take your life.”
Daibang accepted the cakes gratefully and kissed his mother, and when
the time came for him to go to the palace, he set forth with a light
heart and high courage. Having arrived there, he was taken at once by
servants and clad in rich clothing, then led into the presence of the
Khan. With comb and scissors of pure gold, he dressed and cut the
monarch’s hair, and as he looked at him, he learned the Khan’s secret
and why it was that he allowed no one to look upon him and live; and
Daibang’s mind was filled with wonder. Nevertheless, he did not forget
his mother’s commands and managed to eat one of her cakes while he was
combing the royal hair.
“What are you eating?” asked the Khan, and Daibang spread out his
mother’s cakes before him. They looked extremely good, and the monarch
at once demanded one to eat. They tasted even better than they looked,
and all the rest of the time Daibang was working over him the great
Khan sat munching the cakes with evident enjoyment.
“Good youth,” said he, at length, “tell me what these are made of, for
I must have my royal cook learn the art and bake me such goodly cakes
daily. Never have I tasted anything better.”
“Sire,” replied Daibang, “these are very simple cakes; they are made of
rice flour and milk—my mother baked them and kneaded into them her love
and prayers for me, her only child.”
After that the Khan remained silent for a long time. When at last
Daibang had finished his work and begged leave to retire, the Khan
turned and, looking steadfastly at him, said:
“Young man, the love that your mother kneaded into those cakes has
entered my very soul, and I cannot bring myself to give the order for
your execution, as I have done these many times with lads like you.
Nevertheless, you have learned my secret, and for that reason you
should die, for I trust no man on earth, nor any woman either, to keep
a secret entirely locked up in his own mind.”
Daibang bowed low, but said nothing. After a moment the Khan continued:
“In truth, lad, my love for you grows, and I am minded even to trust
your word and let you live. Will you promise, by your mother’s love and
by all else in this world that you consider holy, not to breathe to any
man or any woman the secret concerning me that you have learned this
day? And will you promise also to tell no one in what manner your life
was spared?”
Solemnly and in all true faith Daibang knelt down and promised to keep
steadfastly these two things, as long as he lived. With that he was
dismissed, and servants were ordered to load him with presents and
conduct him home.
Great was the wonder of the people in the village when they learned
that Daibang had returned unharmed from the palace, after having acted
as the Khan’s barber. They came in crowds to the widow’s cottage and
demanded eagerly how it was that he had escaped, and what the Khan’s
great secret was, anyway, that he should refuse at any time to be seen
by his people, or to let those live who had once set eyes upon him. But
to all their questions and wonderings Daibang said never a word. That
night his mother, too, besought him to tell her just how he had fared
and about the Khan’s secret, but he only said to her:
“Mother mine, ask me no more. Your cakes worked the loving magic you
foretold, and I have escaped death, but I have given my word of honor
that I will tell no human being—not even my dear and faithful
mother—the secret I learned while I was cutting the Khan’s hair.”
So the days and weeks and months passed by, and still every once in so
often a fine young man would be chosen from among the people and taken
to the palace to trim the Khan’s hair, after which he would be put to
death. Not one escaped as Daibang had done. And still the people came
to the widow’s cottage and entreated Daibang to tell them the monarch’s
secret. Now he was a tender-hearted and a willing youth, and he yearned
most earnestly to break his promise, more especially when mothers and
fathers besought him with tears and prayers to tell them how he had
been spared, so that their sons might live also.
At length, so great was the strain of the secret on his mind and heart,
that Daibang grew very ill. Doctors came to him from all parts of the
country, and his mother nursed him with tender care, day and night, yet
steadily he grew worse and worse.
“The lad will die,” the doctors said to his mother; “he will surely die
unless he breathes forth the secret that is resting so heavily upon his
mind.”
But Daibang remained faithful. “I have promised,” said he, “by my
mother’s love and by all else that I call holy, to tell my secret to no
living being, and I will die rather than break my word.” So the doctors
all departed, saying there was nothing further they could do.
That night the widow devised a plan. Sitting beside her son as he lay,
restless and tossing on his bed, she said:
“Daibang, my child, hearken to me that you may live and not die. I have
a plan whereby you may keep your promise to the Khan and yet rid your
soul of its heavy secret. Take courage! hasten and get strong, then go
forth alone into a far desert place. There find a hole in the ground,
or a crevice in a rock, and when you have put your lips down close,
speak out the whole matter that is weighing upon your heart. So shall
you keep your promise and yet find relief for your soul and live.”
This advice seemed good to Daibang, and so encouraged was he by the
hope of ridding himself of his secret that he straightway began to
mend. In a short time he had recovered strength enough to start forth
and carry out the suggestion of his mother. He traveled many miles from
home and came at length to a desert place full of rocks and sand, far
from every sign of human dwelling. And in the middle of this waste land
he found a deep, dark hole. Kneeling upon the ground, Daibang put his
lips close to this hole and whispered all his secret. Three times he
told it, and then he arose, feeling light-hearted again and well in
body and mind.
Now it happened that in this hole lived a marmot, very old and clever,
and he heard and understood Daibang’s words, and knew it was the great
Khan’s secret he was telling. Being an idle, gossipy fellow, he
repeated it all to his friend Echo, and as Echo always repeated
everything he heard, whether secret or otherwise, he soon told the wind
and the wind bore the Khan’s secret far and wide over the land, and
back at last into the palace garden, where the Khan himself was
sitting. When the monarch heard the wind whispering about his secret,
he was filled with rage.
“Truly,” he said to himself, “the whole world must be talking about my
secret if even the wind bandies it about! I did wrong to spare the life
of that fellow Daibang, and to-morrow before sunrise he shall die!”
So it came about that Daibang was arrested that very day and dragged to
the palace by rough soldiers. He was thrust at once into the private
council room and there found himself alone with the angry Khan.
“Did I not say that no man on earth could keep a secret faithfully?” he
cried sternly to the lad. “And you, though I loved and believed in you,
have betrayed your trust, for the very wind that plays in my garden is
whispering of that which none but you could tell! Speak, now, if you
have aught to say in self-defense, for to-morrow, at daybreak, you
shall die!”
Daibang had been frightened and confused by the rough handling of the
soldiers, but now, hearing of what he was accused and knowing that he
had done no wrong, he took courage and told the Khan honestly and
without restraint all that he had done.
“Indeed, Sire,” said he at the end, “no human being knows your secret
even now, and it was only to save my life and because of the prayers of
my mother that I spoke it into a hole in a desert place.”
The Khan was touched by this story, his anger vanished, and he felt
again the love in his heart for this faithful lad which he had felt
first when he had eaten of his mother’s cakes. They talked a long time
together, and the end of it all was that Daibang was made the Khan’s
Chief Councilor, and he and his mother lived thereafter in high state
and luxury at the royal palace.
You may be sure Daibang and his clever mother were not long in devising
a way of hiding the Khan’s secret so that he could go abroad among his
people like other kings. And never again was a young man chosen to cut
the Khan’s hair and afterwards be put to death! That service Daibang
kept for himself and remained the Lord High Royal Barber to the end of
his days.
“But what was the Khan’s secret?” demanded the Prince, when the
Siddhi-kur had finished his tale.
“Oh, that,” said the Siddhi-kur, “was very simple; haven’t you guessed
it yet? The Khan had ears that were large and pointed like the ears of
an ass, and he was frightfully ashamed of them. But the widow made him
a tall velvet cap with lappets that came down over them, and after that
he felt perfectly comfortable about himself. Of course such caps became
the style in the kingdom, and I believe they are worn in the East, in
court circles, this very day!
“But I have tarried long enough! My heart yearns again for my mango
tree in the cool grove beside the garden of ghost children. Farewell, O
Prince! Since you have again broken silence on the homeward way, you
have no longer any power to hold me!”
The shame and remorse of the Prince at having failed again were pitiful
to see, but knowing that tears and self-accusation were of no avail, he
turned around and set off at a smart pace after the disappearing form
of the Siddhi-kur.
“I have a story in mind,” said the Siddhi-kur, as he journeyed once
more in the magic sack on the back of the Prince toward the cave of the
master, Nagarguna, “a very ancient story of a king’s son as faithful
and wise as yourself, my friend. Come now, would you like me to tell
it?”
The Prince nodded his head, resolving within himself that on no account
whatever would he open his lips this time to comment on the story. So
the Siddhi-kur began at once.