Long years ago, there lived in a distant land a good and handsome
prince named Sunshine. He dwelt in a splendid palace with his father,
who was a Khan, his stepmother and his stepbrother, whose name was
Moonshine. His father and brother loved him dearly, but his stepmother
hated him, being jealous for her own son, Moonshine. So, while the two
boys lived happily together, never suspecting ill, this wicked woman
plotted and schemed to destroy the life of Sunshine and so make her son
heir to the throne.
At last, one day, she thought of a plan. Going to her room, she lay
down, groaning and crying out as if she were ill and in frightful pain.
The Khan was soon notified and was much alarmed when he found the queen
apparently in such a bad condition.
“My dear wife,” he cried, “I will have the court physician summoned at
once, that he may give you a remedy.”
“Nay,” said the queen feebly, “it will do no good. Already I am nigh
unto death, and none can help me. I am dying, my Khan—I am dying fast,
and the one and only remedy for my sickness I can never have.”
“One remedy?” said the king. “If there is anything on earth which will
cure you, my dear, you shall have it, though I give my kingdom to get
it for you! Only tell me what it is, that I may procure it at once!”
“It is more than your kingdom,” she replied, with another groan. “It is
of such a nature that I dare not speak of it!” Then she writhed and
shuddered as if in fearful agony, and the Khan was nigh distracted to
see her suffering so.
“Tell me, my love, tell me!” he begged. “No matter what it is, you
shall have it! You have my sacred promise!”
“Your son,” whispered the wicked woman, “Sunshine has worked an evil
charm upon me, and I shall surely die this night if his heart’s blood
is not given me!”
The Khan shrank from his wife in horror. He loved his eldest child more
than life itself, and to kill him would be impossible. Nevertheless,
something must be done quickly. “The queen,” he thought, “is mad; she
must be humored, and there is my kingly word which must not be broken.
I will have a goat killed, and its heart given her, and when she is
well again, she will be as glad as I that I thus deceived her!” So he
drew near the queen and spoke reassuringly to her:
“My love, your life is more precious to me than that of many sons! You
shall have the heart’s blood of Sunshine this very night without fail.
Meanwhile, try to sleep.”
He turned toward the door and met Moonshine coming in. One look at the
lad’s face told him that his last terrible words had been overheard. “I
must explain my plan to him,” he thought, but at that moment a
messenger came to him bearing important news, and he straightway forgot
all about the boy.
Moonshine, however, was as one struck dumb with surprise and fear. He
had indeed heard part of the conversation between the Khan and his
queen, for the two had been talking loudly as he approached their door,
and he thought, of course, that his brother was in deadly peril. As
soon as he had recovered a little from the shock of his discovery, he
ran to find Sunshine and poured the whole story into his ears.
Sunshine was more grieved at the apparent lack of love shown by his
father than he was fearful for his own life, but there was no time to
weep and lament, for he must leave the palace at once and be far away
in some safe hiding-place by night-fall.
“I am going with you!” declared Moonshine.
“Nay,” said Sunshine, though he looked grateful. “I know not what
dangers and privations I may have to meet. You must not think of it!”
“Indeed, yes!” cried the other. “What will home be without you, dear
brother? Your life shall be my life, whatever and wherever it is!”
There was no dissuading him, so in a very short time the two lads had
slipped quietly and secretly forth from the palace and were out in the
wide world.
All that day they walked, and the next, and the next, sleeping at night
wherever they could find shelter. On the third day they came into a
barren, desolate country, with no sign of human life to be seen
anywhere, and nothing which could yield them water or food. They
struggled manfully on, but at last Moonshine stumbled and fell to the
earth.
“Alas, dear brother,” he said, “I can go no farther. Bid me farewell
and go your way; there is no need for two of us to die! As for me, I am
so weary that the thought of death seems pleasant to my mind.”
Sunshine did not try to argue with his brother, but made him as
comfortable as the hot desert sand would allow and bade him be of good
cheer and await his return, for he would surely find and bring him
help. Then he began looking this way and that for some sign of a spring
or a bit of an oasis. At last his eye was caught by a bright red
something on the side of a rocky cliff not far away. He hastened to see
what it might be and found that it was a great red door set deep into
the face of the rock. His courage rose at the sight, for a door might
have a kindly human being behind it. He approached and rapped sturdily
upon it, whereupon it was slowly opened by an old man. Sunshine was so
relieved that he could have fallen upon the stooping shoulders and
kissed the long, flowing beard. Quickly he told his story and entreated
the old man to give him aid for Moonshine. The hermit, for such he
declared himself to be, lost no time in accompanying Sunshine back to
where his brother lay, and then he used all his skill to bring the
exhausted boy back to health and strength.
At last he was successful, and the long and the short of it all was
that the two lads took up their abode with the old hermit and lived
with him as his own sons. Indeed, he soon declared that he could have
loved no true sons any better. So the weeks and months went on, and the
three dwelt happily together in their cave behind the red door in the
desert. But as the year drew to a close, a great tragedy befell them.
It happened that the Khan who ruled over this country was a wicked,
ill-tempered, suspicious monarch who hated and feared strangers above
all men, because of a prophecy concerning them. It was foretold that he
should one day lose his throne and crown to some lad from a strange
land. And so he had made a law that every youth who came into his
kingdom from another country should be seized at once by his soldiers
and cast into a cave where lived three fierce demon-bears.
For a long time no one had heard of the coming of Sunshine and
Moonshine, for very rarely did any stray traveler or caravan pass the
solitary red door in the cliff. But at length, in some mysterious way,
the Khan learned of the two lads living with the hermit and sent his
soldiers in angry haste to fetch them.
The old man spied the men coming across the desert and at once guessed
their purpose, so, while they were still far off, he ran quickly to the
two boys and bade them hide themselves away. Sunshine climbed into a
barrel of mangos, crouching down until they covered him, and Moonshine
hid in a sack of grain. When the soldiers reached the red door, the
hermit opened it willingly.
“Boys?” said he, in answer to their question. “I have no boys! I am an
old man and have lived in this desert place many a long year without
wife or child to bear me company. You must be mistaken!”
The soldiers pushed the hermit roughly aside and entered the cave.
“You had better not lie to the Khan’s soldiers!” said the captain
threateningly.
“I have told you no lie,” replied the hermit, “but if you doubt my
word, come in, look and see.”
For a moment the men hesitated, then, with an oath, the captain seized
the hermit by his long white beard and shook him.
“So you thought you would give us the trouble of searching!” said he.
“We’ll do no such thing! I know there is a boy here, and my orders are
to fetch him, so bring him out at once—and I’ll teach you to hurry!”
He raised his sword over the hermit’s head, but before he could bring
it down, Sunshine had leaped from his hiding-place, had caught hold of
the captain’s arm and had stayed the blow.
“Oho!” said the captain, and he flashed around upon the lad. “So you
are here, after all—I was almost beginning to doubt!”
There was no use in struggling. The soldiers gathered around Sunshine,
bound his hands behind his back, flung him on a horse and, without
giving him a moment to bid farewell to the grief-stricken old hermit,
rode away with him. Not until they had gone far over the desert on
their way to the Khan’s city did the captain remember that he had been
told there were two boys living with the hermit. He stopped abruptly,
wheeled his horse and gave orders that the troop should return at once
to the old man’s cave. Sunshine guessed what was in the captain’s mind,
and his heart sank within him. “There will be no possible escape for my
brother,” he thought, “for the soldiers will come upon Moonshine
unexpectedly before he has time to hide again!” Then he began planning
and wondering if he could not, by craft, prevent the soldiers from
returning. At last he groaned aloud.
“Woe is me!” he said. “Alas! And woe is me! Would that I had died with
my brother before this evil fate befell me!”
“What do you mean by that?” said the captain, who had heard his
sorrowful words.
“What should I mean but what I say?” said Sunshine, with another groan.
“When you stood at the door of our cave we had but just returned from
digging the grave of my brother. And now, surely, the poor old man, our
foster-father, will die of grief, for both his sons are lost to him—all
in the space of a day!”
The captain drew rein, and the soldiers behind him halted respectfully.
The heat of the desert was great, and he had no desire to travel the
long distance back to the cave of the red door, to no purpose.
“Young man,” he said sternly to Sunshine. “Is it indeed true that your
brother is dead, and that there is now no strange youth in the cave of
the hermit?”
“Have I not said it?” replied Sunshine impatiently. “Indeed, I know not
which I wish the more—that I were dead beside my brother, or that he
were here beside me to share my woe!” Then he wept aloud.
The captain hesitated, then he slowly turned his horse and bade his
soldiers gruffly to proceed to the palace of the Khan.
Sunshine’s heart bounded with joy and relief for his brother, but he
still continued to groan and lament, that the soldiers might be
deceived.
It was a long distance to the Khan’s city, and by the time Sunshine and
his cruel captors had reached the gates, the sun was setting. Now it
happened that a young and beautiful daughter of the Khan was at that
moment sitting on the low roof of the palace, enjoying the cool
twilight air. Looking down into the street below, she saw the line of
soldiers riding by, with Sunshine in their midst, his head bowed and
his hands bound behind him. He looked up, and his eyes met those of the
princess. The light of the setting sun rested on his black hair; his
face was pale, and his eyes big and sorrowful. Never, thought the
princess, had she seen so beautiful a youth, and he, looking up at her
as she leaned over the roof, thought she must be a daughter of the
gods, so fair and lovely she was.
The princess made haste to inquire who the lad might be and soon
learned that he was a strange youth condemned, because of the prophecy,
to be thrown to the demon-bears on the morrow. Then she sought her
father, the Khan, and kneeling before him, she entreated him to spare
the life of this fair young stranger.
Now the Khan lived in daily dread that the prophecy concerning an
unknown young man would come true, so when his daughter urged him to
spare this fellow who might be the very one foretold, he fell into a
terrible rage. She, not seeing that her cause was hopeless, continued
to beg her father for the young man’s life. At last the Khan’s temper
broke all bounds. He summoned his soldiers and, pointing to the
princess, cried:
“Take her away! She has more thought for this upstart stranger than for
the safety and throne of her father! Take her away, I say, and cast her
into a dungeon. And on the morrow choose two strong sacks; tie this
strange youth into one of them, my daughter into the other; then cast
both into the cave of the demon-bears!”
The princess, though she could have fainted from very terror, was too
proud to show her fear, too noble to lament her life, so she silently
allowed the rough soldiers to bind her hands and lead her away.
At sunrise the next day everything was prepared as the Khan had
ordered, and the two unfortunate young people were thrust into huge
sacks which were tied about their necks. Then they were cast into an
open, rocky cave by a river, where the demon-bears came daily to drink.
Sunshine sighed deeply as he saw the princess beside him, her fair face
and long hair emerging from the mouth of the sack.
“Alas!” said he. “And ten times alas! That I should die is nothing, for
what am I but a stranger and an outcast? But oh, the cruel pity of it,
that you, loveliest princess, should perish too!”
“Nay, fair youth,” said the Khan’s daughter, “mourn not for me. I am
only an unthinking girl whose life or death can mean nothing to the
world—and since it is my father’s will that I die thus, willing am I to
obey him. But that you, a man of noble birth, unless your looks belie
you, should meet such a cruel fate—and only because you are a stranger!
Indeed, that seems more than my sad heart can bear!”
While these two noble young creatures were thus lamenting each other’s
hard lot, forgetful of their own, the three demon-bears drew near and
overheard their talk, and the heart of the chief of them was softened
at their words. He turned to his companions, saying:
“Of a truth, the unselfishness of these two young mortals moves me to
pity! If there is such bravery in the heart of man, I am minded never
to eat human flesh again!”
The other two, being also touched by the beauty and nobleness of their
captives, readily agreed with the chief; and they resolved to begin at
once to be the friends and not the fearful enemies of man. As they
entered the cave, they saw that Sunshine and the princess grew white
with terror at the sight of them, so the chief called out reassuringly:
“Be not afraid! The heart of a demon-bear is not always as cruel as men
say! We have come, not to devour you but to set you free. A lad and a
lass who, in such a dire strait, think only of each other, deserve to
live long in peace. By my magic power I declare your bonds broken! Go,
and from henceforth think of the demon-bears as no longer enemies but
friends!”
The wretched sacks dropped from the sides of Sunshine and the princess,
and they stood up safe and sound and as free as the wind that blew
about them.
The Siddhi-kur ceased speaking, and a long pause followed, but the
Prince said never a word. Only he stood still a moment and seemed to
gurgle unintelligibly in his throat.
“What did you say?” said the Siddhi-kur, leaning forward.
Another gurgle, and the Prince turned his head, whereat the Siddhi-kur
burst into a merry peal of laughter, for wedged between the lad’s teeth
was a piece of wood, making speech impossible.
“You are a wiser youth than I thought,” said the Siddhi-kur, when he
had a little recovered from his mirth. “Did you put that wedge in your
mouth before I began my tale, so that you could not speak, no matter
how much you wanted to?”
The Khan’s son nodded.
The Siddhi-kur settled back in his sack with a sigh. “You have won,” he
said, “and I might as well resign myself to my fate! Farewell, dear
mango tree and lovely garden of ghost children! Farewell, for now I
must dwell far away in another cool grove beside the cave of Nagarguna,
on the Shining Mountain!
“But I suppose you really deserve to know the ending of my story,” he
continued, in a more cheerful tone, “though you might guess the rest
for yourself.
“Of course, the princess went back to her father, who was nigh dead
with repentance now that his wrath had cooled, and Sunshine hastened to
the cave in the desert to relieve the minds of the good old hermit and
Moonshine, his faithful brother. And then, of course, there was a great
royal wedding, a double one—for not only did Sunshine marry the lovely
princess, but Moonshine found an almost equally beautiful bride in her
younger sister.
“The prophecy which the Khan had dreaded so long came true, but in a
very different way than he had expected. He did indeed lose his throne
and crown to a strange lad, but he gave them up of his own free will to
Sunshine, because he loved the boy so, and because he was old and weary
and had no greater wish in life than to see his son and daughter ruling
quietly and prosperously over his kingdom. So they all lived happily
ever after. And—oh, yes!—they soon paid a visit to Sunshine’s father
and found him grown old and gray, sorrowing for his two dear sons. The
wicked queen had meanwhile died, just because she was too wicked to
live. So everybody was happy and satisfied.”
A look of great contentment and relief settled upon the face of the
Prince, and he moved briskly on again in the direction of the Shining
Mountain. At last they saw it gleaming in the distance.
“And now, O Prince,” said the Siddhi-kur, “we are nearing the end of
our journey. Keep well the lesson of silence you have learned with such
pain and labor, for a king who thinks much and speaks little will be a
wise monarch, and his people will dwell in peace, happiness and
prosperity under his sway.”