For several years Schalu reigned over his new-found kingdom, quietly,
wisely and well, ably advised and assisted by his faithful friend,
Saran. His people loved him, and there was happiness and prosperity
throughout the land. One day a group of men stood without the council
chamber and begged an audience with the Khan. Schalu graciously
admitted them and asked what it was they desired.
“Sire,” said they, “we are come from the people to ask you a boon, not
so much for ourselves as for your Majesty. These many years you have
been with us, and yet you have not taken unto yourself a wife, and we
wish mightily that you would wed some princess and so fill your home
with happiness, and perchance give us a son to love and look to as our
future ruler.”
This saying pleased the Khan, and he inquired about all the princesses
in near-by kingdoms, declaring that he would set about at once choosing
a royal wife. After that he spent many days visiting other countries
and meeting princesses and great ladies from far and near; but not one
of these lovely maidens entirely pleased him or made him feel that she
alone out of all the world was the one for him. This damsel had a voice
too sharp; that one’s temper was too quick; the other seemed cold and
indifferent,—and so it was. Day after day the people expected tidings
of a royal marriage, and day after day, with keen disappointment, they
watched the Khan ride back to his palace alone and dejected.
At last, when Schalu was returning after another fruitless journey into
a far land to visit a lady of great renown, he happened to pass a small
house on the outskirts of his kingdom. And standing in the doorway was
the most beautiful damsel his eyes had ever looked on. She was tall and
slim, with long, black hair reaching almost to her ankles. Her eyes
were big and black as midnight, and her lips were red. Moreover, there
was a soft magic in her face, a something so lovely that the Khan stood
spellbound, gazing at her in silence for a long time. Then, all at
once, he realized that this cottage girl, in her simple work-a-day
frock, was the one woman in all the world that he wanted for his wife.
No more looking about for princesses and grand ladies! He had found
what he longed for, and he would make this damsel his queen.
The matter was soon settled, for was not the Khan’s word law in the
land? A great marriage feast was held in the palace, holidays were
proclaimed throughout the land and there were revelry and mad rejoicing
among all the people. If there were any to murmur against the lowliness
of the new queen, their voices were quickly drowned by shouts of
approval from those who had been fortunate enough to look at the
beautiful face of the bride, and when the days of festivity were over,
everybody settled down in peace and contentment, feeling that their
Khan was at last to have a happy home life.
But it was far otherwise. Though Schalu loved his queen with all his
heart, though he showered riches and treasures upon her, and though he
racked his brain to find amusements and pleasures to make her happy,
she only looked upon him coldly and strangely and grew ever paler,
quieter and apparently more sorrowful every day. In vain the Khan
besought her to tell him what he could do to please her and to win her
love; in vain he tried to find out whether she had any secret cause of
woe,—he could do nothing. And day by day he became more disappointed
and unhappy. It grieved the courtiers and the people to see this, but
above all it grieved Saran, his faithful friend, until at last he could
stand it no longer and, going to Schalu, he said:
“My dear Master, my heart is nigh dead within me to see you, the best
of men and of monarchs, so sorrowful. I pray you, let me advise you! It
seems to me, Sire, that the queen must bear some hidden grief in her
heart, else she would surely give you her love. Perhaps, if we could
discover what her trouble is, we could cure it and make her the loving
wife you so desire.”
“Saran, my friend,” said the Khan wearily, “have I not tried every
means in my power to win the queen’s love and confidence—and all to no
avail?”
“Then let me try,” said Saran eagerly, “for my heart tells me I shall
succeed even where my royal master has failed.”
“Very well,” said Schalu, but he spoke without hope or interest.
From that moment, wearing the “invisible” cap, Saran watched the queen
day and night, unknown to her. He neglected food and sleep that he
might follow her continually, but she gave no hint at any time, by
word, look or deed, of any hidden cause of sorrow. Saran was about to
give up in despair when, one evening, he noticed a peculiar
restlessness in the lady. She looked often at the sky, moved uneasily
about the palace and seemed in an absent, dreamy state of mind. At last
she retired to her own rooms, soon to emerge dressed in a long black
mantle and hood which hid her face almost completely. Silently, and
with many an uneasy look behind her, she made her way to a small,
seldom used, back gate in the palace garden and thence out into the
highroad. Once there, she vanished in the twinkling of an eye, and
Saran, looking frantically in all directions, could find no trace of
her. He dashed back into the palace, seized the magic boots from their
hiding-place, tugged them on and muttered his wish:
“Take me wherever the queen is!”
For a moment the wind sang in his ears and the stars sped by him; then
he found himself on earth again and walking in a beautiful, strange
garden. Never had he smelled such fragrance or seen such profusion of
flowers as these that were dimly visible in the moonlight! Paths led in
many directions between rows of gorgeous bloom, and down one of them he
could make out the faint outline of the queen in her long, black robe.
He went on quickly and silently. She approached a palace which stood at
the end of the garden, entered through a small gate, and hurried along
a short, narrow passageway into an open court. Saran followed, still
wearing the magic cap, and soon found himself in a brilliantly lighted
room, rich beyond words and filled with a soft, smoky incense which
rose in clouds from a brazier standing in a corner. So interested was
he in looking about him that he quite forgot the queen for a moment and
was astonished to see her step forth into the light, clad, not in her
long, dark robe, but in flame-colored silk, embroidered with gold and
precious stones. She approached the brazier and waved her arms slowly
over it, muttering strange words in a hard, monotonous voice. Scarcely
had she ceased speaking and dropped her hands to her side when in
through the window flew a bird of gorgeous plumage. It darted three
times through the smoke of the incense and then disappeared in a flash
of light, and in its place appeared a tall, handsome man, dressed in
rich garments like a prince. He looked angrily at the queen, who still
stood gazing at the brazier, nor did she even glance at him as he said:
“Have you done as I bade you?”
She shook her head.
“What?” said he, stamping his foot. “After all my careful teaching,
does the Khan still keep his natural form and the power of pouring gold
from his mouth? Have I not given you fame and wealth and taught you
magic only upon condition that you would destroy your husband?”
The unhappy queen covered her face with her hands. “I cannot do it!”
she whispered. “Transform the Khan into a dog and take from him all his
magic powers! I cannot, cannot do it!”
“And why not, pray?” asked the strange man with a mocking laugh. “You
do not love the Khan! I have, by my magic, made that impossible.”
Saran, watching and listening from a near corner, let slip an
exclamation of wonder. “So that is it!” he thought. “She is kept from
loving her husband by wicked magic!”
Both the queen and the stranger started at the sound, but on looking
around, could see nothing, for Saran, of course, still wore his
“invisible” cap.
“Enough of this!” cried the man at length, after he had waited in vain
for the queen to answer his question. “To-morrow I will take matters
into my own hands. In the form of a snake I will seek the Khan and cast
a spell upon him. Thereafter he will be completely in my power.”
The queen turned toward him imploringly, but like a flash he had
changed himself into a bird again and was gone through the open window.
Slowly and sorrowfully the queen turned away from the glowing brazier,
caught up her black robe and put it over her shoulders. As Saran
followed her out to the beautiful garden, he could hear her softly
crying, and his heart grew big with pity for her and anger at the
strange man whom he now knew to be a wicked demon.
The next day Saran ordered a great fire to be built in the council
hall, and he bade Schalu and his queen sit before it. While they were
so doing, into the hall crept a great ugly serpent, green and slimy and
loathsome to look on. He raised his head high and fastened his evil
eyes upon Schalu, and the Khan became white and motionless and looked
like one dead. The snake swayed to and fro, muttering strange words,
but before his spell was ended, Saran had fallen upon him and was
beating his head with a huge staff. Then the serpent turned and
attacked Saran, and mightily they fought together at the edge of the
great fire. Sometimes Saran would nigh fall into the flames, and
sometimes the wicked demon, and great was the noise of their cries and
shouting. At last the great serpent made a sudden, unexpected turn,
glided under Saran’s arm and plunged at Schalu. In one breathless
moment he would have reached him, but with a cry the queen jumped
forward, cast her arms around the snake’s hideous green neck and flung
him from her into the fire. A great smoke arose, and with a scream an
ugly demon leaped from the midst of the flames and flew out through the
window, leaving his snake form behind him, smoldering in the ashes!
“My!” exclaimed the Prince, standing still in excitement. “How
thrilling! And did Schalu recover from his spell, and did the brave
queen love him after that?”
“Yes, indeed!” said the Siddhi-kur with a little laugh. “The wicked
demon lost all his power over the queen after that and never troubled
her or her husband again. And she proved to be a most loving and
dutiful wife, and they all lived happily together for the rest of their
days.”
“Saran should have had a lovely wife, too,” said the Prince
thoughtfully, beginning to move on again.
“Wait a bit, my friend,” said the Siddhi-kur, “you may add to the story
as you wish, by yourself, as you journey onward! As for me, I am off
for the cool grove beside the garden of ghost children, for you have
broken silence again on your way home, and I am free once more!”
With a shout of joy he leaped from the magic sack and dashed off toward
the north, where his mango tree stood awaiting him.
The Prince sighed wearily. “Oh, how stupid I am!” said he. “But I will
get the Siddhi-kur even yet, and carry him to my master, Nagarguna, if
I have to spend the rest of my life in doing it!”
And so it came about that in a few days the Khan’s son was again
journeying back toward the cave of Nagarguna bearing upon his back the
Siddhi-kur.
“Friend,” said that creature of magic, at length. “I have just
bethought me of a marvellous tale which I am minded to tell you. You
may listen or not, as you wish; for me, at least, it will make the way
and the hours seem shorter. The name of this story is ‘The Fortunes of
Shrikantha.’”