man, indeed! You a Rajah! why the Rajah is miles away. You had better
go home, my good fellow, for there's no welcome for you here!" But the
Rajah continued calling till the Malee opened the door; who then was
indeed surprised, seeing it was truly no other than the Rajah, and he
asked what he could do for him.
The Rajah said, "I wish to marry your beautiful daughter, Guzra Bai."
"No, no," said the Malee, "this joke won't do. None of your Princes in
disguise for me. You may think you are a great Rajah and I only a poor
Malee, but I tell you that makes no difference at all to me. Though
you were king of all the earth, I would not permit you to come here
and amuse yourself chattering to my girl, only to fill her head with
nonsense, and to break her heart."
"In truth, good man, you do me wrong," answered the Rajah humbly: "I
mean what I say; I wish to marry your daughter."
"Do not think," retorted the Malee, "that I'll make a fool of myself
because I'm only a Malee, and believe what you've got to say, because
you're a great Rajah. Rajah or no Rajah is all one to me. If you mean
what you say, if you care for my daughter and wish to be married to
her, come and be married; but I'll have none of your new-fangled forms
and court ceremonies hard to be understood; let the girl be married by
her father's hearth and under her father's roof, and let us invite to
the wedding our old friends and acquaintances whom we've known all our
lives, and before we ever thought of you."
The Rajah was not angry, but amused, and rather pleased than otherwise
at the old man's frankness, and he consented to all that was desired.
The village beauty, Guzra Bai, was therefore married with as much pomp
as they could muster, but in village fashion, to the great Rajah, who
took her home with him, followed by the tears and blessings of her
parents and playmates.
The twelve kings' daughters were by no means pleased at this addition
to the number of the Ranees; and they agreed amongst themselves that
it would be highly derogatory to their dignity to permit Guzra Bai to
associate with them, and that the Rajah their husband, had offered
them an unpardonable insult in marrying a Malee's daughter, which was
to be revenged upon her the very first opportunity.
Having made this league, they tormented poor Guzra Bai so much that,
to save her from their persecutions, the Rajah built her a little
house of her own, where she lived very, very happily for a short time.
At last one day he had occasion to go and visit a distant part of his
dominions, but fearing his high-born wives might ill-use Guzra Bai in
his absence, at parting he gave her a little golden bell, saying, "If
while I am away you are in any trouble, or any one should be unkind to
you, ring this little bell, and wherever I am I shall instantly hear
it, and will return to your aid."
No sooner had the Rajah gone, than Guzra Bai thought she would try the
power of the bell. So she rang it.
The Rajah instantly appeared. "What do you want?" he said.
"Oh, nothing," she replied. "I was foolish. I could hardly believe
what you told me could be true, and thought I would try."
"Now you will believe, I hope," he said, and went away. A second time
she rang the bell. Again the Rajah returned.
"Oh, pardon me, husband," she said; "it was wrong of me not to trust
you, but I hardly thought you could return again from so far."
And again he went away. A third time she rang the golden bell. "Why do
you ring again, Guzra Bai?" asked the Rajah sternly, as for a third
time he returned.
"I don't know, indeed; indeed I beg your pardon," she said; "but I
know not why, I felt so frightened."
"Have any of the Ranees been unkind to you?" he asked.
"No, none," she answered; "in fact, I have seen none of them."
"You are a silly child," said he, stroking her hair. "Affairs of the
state call me away. You must try and keep a good heart till my
return;" and for the fourth time he disappeared.
A little while after this, wonderful to relate, Guzra Bai had a
hundred and one children--a hundred boys and one girl. When the Ranees
heard this, they said to each other, "Guzra Bai, the Malee's daughter,
will rank higher than us; she will have great power and influence as
mother to the heir to the Raj; let us kill these children, and tell
our husband that she is a sorceress; then will he love her no longer,
and his old affection for us will return." So these twelve wicked
Ranees all went over to Guzra Bai's house. When Guzra Bai saw them
coming, she feared they meant to do her some harm, so she seized her
little golden bell, and rang, and rang, and rang--but no Rajah came.
She had called him back so often that he did not believe she really
needed his help. And thus the poor woman was left to the mercy of her
implacable enemies.
Now the nurse who had charge of the hundred and one babies was an old
servant of the twelve Ranees, and moreover a very wicked woman, able
and willing to do whatever her twelve wicked old mistresses ordered.
So when they said to her, "Can you kill these children?" she answered,
"Nothing is easier; I will throw them out upon the dust-heap behind
the palace, where the rats and hawks and vultures will have left none
of them remaining by to-morrow morning."
"So be it," said the Ranees. Then the nurse took the hundred and one
little innocent children--the hundred little boys and the one little
girl--and threw them behind the palace on the dust-heap, close to some
large rat-holes; and after that, she and the twelve Ranees placed a
very large stone in each of the babies' cradles, and said to Guzra
Bai, "Oh, you evil witch in disguise, do not hope any longer to impose
by your arts on the Rajah's credulity. See, your children have all
turned into stones. See these, your pretty babies!"--and with that
they tumbled the hundred and one stones down in a great heap on the
floor. Then Guzra Bai began to cry, for she knew it was not true; but
what could one poor woman do against thirteen? At the Rajah's return
the twelve Ranees accused Guzra Bai of being a witch, and the nurse
testified that the hundred and one children she had charge of had
turned into stones, and the Rajah believed them rather than Guzra Bai,
and he ordered her to be imprisoned for life.
Meanwhile a Bandicote had heard the pitiful cries of the children, and
taking pity on them, dragged them all, one by one, into her hole, out
of the way of kites and vultures. She assembled all the Bandicotes
from far and near, and told them what she had done, begging them to
assist in finding food for the children. Then every day a hundred and
one Bandicotes would come, each bringing a little bit of food in his
mouth, and give it to one of the children; and so day by day they grew
stronger and stronger, until they were able to run about, and then
they used to play of a morning at the mouth of the Bandicote's hole,
running in there to sleep every night. But one fine day who should
come by but the wicked old nurse! Fortunately all the boys were in the
hole, and the little girl, who was playing outside, on seeing her ran
in there too, but not before the nurse had seen her. She immediately
went to the twelve Ranees and related this, saying, "I cannot help
thinking some of the children may still be living in those rat-holes.
You had better send and have them dug out and killed."
"We dare not do that," answered they, "for fear of causing suspicion;
but we will order some labourers to dig up that ground and make it
into a field, and that will effectually smother any of the children
who may still be alive."
This plan was approved and forthwith carried into execution; but the
good Bandicote, who happened that day to be out on a foraging
expedition in the palace, heard all about it there, and immediately
running home, took all the children from her hole to a large well some
distance off, where she hid them in the hollows behind the steps
leading down to the well, laying one child under each step.
Here they would have been quite safe, had not the Dhobee happened to
go down to the well that day to wash some clothes, taking with him his
little girl. While her father was drawing up water, the child amused
herself running up and down the steps of the well. Now each time her
weight pressed down a step it gave the child hidden underneath a
little squeeze. All the hundred boys bore this without uttering a
sound; but when the Dhobee's child trod on the step under which the
little girl was hidden, she cried out, "How can you be so cruel to me,
trampling on me in this way? Have pity on me, for I am a little girl
as well as you."
When the child heard these words proceeding from the stone, she ran in
great alarm to her father, saying, "Father, I don't know what's the
matter, but something alive is certainly under those stones. I heard
it speak; but whether it is a Rakshas or an angel or a human being I
cannot tell." Then the Dhobee went to the twelve Ranees to tell them
the wonderful news about the voice in the well; and they said to each
other, "Maybe it's some of Guzra Bai's children; let us send and have
this inquired into." So they sent some people to pull down the well
and see if some evil spirits were not there.
Then labourers went to pull down the well. Now, close to the well was
a little temple dedicated to Gunputti, containing a small shrine and a
little clay image of the god. When the children felt the well being
pulled down they called out for help and protection to Gunputti, who
took pity on them and changed them into trees growing by his temple--a
hundred little mango trees all round in a circle (which were the
hundred little boys), and a little rose bush in the middle, covered
with red and white roses, which was the little girl.
The labourers pulled down the well, but they found nothing there but a
poor old Bandicote, which they killed. Then, by order of the twelve
wicked Ranees, they sacrilegiously destroyed the little temple. But
they found no children there, either. However, the Dhobee's
mischievous little daughter had gone with her father to witness the
work of destruction, and as they were looking on, she said, "Father,
do look at all those funny little trees; I never remember noticing
them here before." And being very inquisitive, she started off to have
a nearer look at them. There in a circle grew the hundred little mango
trees, and in the centre of all the little rose bush, bearing the red
and white roses.
The girl rushed by the mango trees, who uttered no words, and running
up to the rose bush, began gathering some of the flowers. At this the
rose bush trembled very much, and sighed and said, "I am a little girl
as well as you; how can you be so cruel? You are breaking all my
ribs."
Then the child ran back to her father and said, "Come and listen to
what the rose bush says." And the father repeated the news to the
twelve Ranees, who ordered that a great fire should be made, and the
hundred and one little trees be burned in it, root and branch, till
not a stick remained.
The fire was made, and the hundred and one little trees were dug up
and just going to be put into it, when Gunputti, taking pity on them,
caused a tremendous storm to come on, which put out the fire and
flooded the country and swept the hundred and one trees into the
river, where they were carried down a long, long way by the torrent,
until at last the children were landed, restored to their own shapes,
on the river bank, in the midst of a wild jungle, very far from any
human habitation.
Here these children lived for ten years, happy in their mutual love
and affection. Generally every day fifty of the boys would go out to
collect roots and berries for their food, leaving fifty at home to
take care of their little sister; but sometimes they put her in some
safe place, and all would go out together for the day; nor were they
ever molested in their excursions by bear, panther, snake, scorpion,
or other noxious creature. One day all the brothers put their little
sister safely up in a fine shady tree, and went out together to hunt.
After rambling on for some time they came to the hut of a savage
Rakshas, who in the disguise of an old woman had lived for many years
in the jungle.
The Rakshas, angry at this invasion of her domain, no sooner saw them
than she changed them all into crows. Night came on, and their little
sister was anxiously awaiting her brothers' return, when on a sudden
she heard a loud whirring sound in the air, and round the tree flocked
a hundred black crows, cawing and offering her berries and roots which
they had dug up with their sharp bills. Then the little sister guessed
too truly what must have happened--that some malignant spirit had
metamorphosed her brothers into this hideous shape; and at the sad
sight she began to cry.
Time wore on; every morning the crows flew away to collect food for
her and for themselves, and every evening they returned to roost in
the branches of the high tree where she sat the livelong day, crying
as if her heart would break.
At last so many bitter tears had she shed that they made a little
stream which flowed from the foot of the tree right down through the
jungle.
Some months after this, one fine day, a young Rajah from a
neighbouring country happened to be hunting in this very jungle; but
he had not been very successful. Toward the close of the day he found
himself faint and weary, having missed his way and lost his comrades,
with no companion save his dogs, who, being thirsty, ran hurriedly
hither and thither in search of water. After some time, they saw in
the distance what looked like a clear stream; the dogs rushed there
and the tired prince, following them, flung himself down on the grass
by the water's brink, thinking to sleep there for the night; and, with
his hands under his head, stared up into the leafy branches of the
tree above him. Great was his astonishment to see high up in in the
air an immense number of crows, and above them all a most lovely young
girl, who was feeding them with berries and wild fruits. Quick as
thought, he climbed the tree, and bringing her carefully and gently
down, seated her on the grass beside him, saying, "Tell me, pretty
lady, who you are, and how you come to be living in this dreary
place." So she told him all her adventures, except that she did not
say the hundred crows were her hundred brothers. Then the Rajah said,
"Do not cry any more, fair Princess; you shall come home with me and
be my Ranee, and my father and mother shall be yours."
At this she smiled and dried her eyes, but quickly added, "You will
let me take these crows with me, will you not? for I love them dearly,
and I cannot go away unless they may come too."
"To be sure," he answered. "You may bring all the animals in the
jungle with you, if you like, if you will only come."
So he took her home to his father's house, and the old Rajah and Ranee
wondered much at this jungle lady, when they saw her rare beauty, her
modest, gentle ways and her queenly grace. Then the young Rajah told
them how she was a persecuted Princess, and asked their leave to marry
her; and because her loving goodness had won all hearts, they gave
their consent as joyfully as if she had been daughter of the greatest
of Rajahs, and brought with her a splendid dower; and they called her
Draupadi Bai.
Draupadi had some beautiful trees planted in front of her palace, in
which the crows, her brothers, used to live, and she daily with her
own hands boiled a quantity of rice, which she would scatter for them
to eat as they flocked around her. Now some time after this, Draupadi
Bai had a son, who was called Ramchundra. He was a very good boy, and
his mother, Draupadi Bai, used to take him to school every morning,
and go and fetch him home in the evening. But one day, when Ramchundra
was about fourteen years old, it happened that Draupadi Bai did not go
to fetch him home from school as she was wont; and on his return he
found her sitting under the trees in front of her palace, stroking the
glossy black crows that flocked around her, and weeping.
Then Ramchundra threw down his bundle of books and said to his
mother, putting his elbows on her knees, and looking up in her face,
"Mammy, dear, tell me why you are now crying, and what it is that
makes you so often sad."
"Oh, nothing, nothing," she answered.
"Yes, dear mother," said he, "do tell me. Can I help you? If I can, I
will."
Draupadi Bai shook her head. "Alas, no, my son," she said; "you are
too young to help me; and as for my grief, I have never told it to any
one. I cannot tell it to you now." But Ramchundra continued begging
and praying her to tell him, until at last she did; relating to him
all her own and his uncles' sad history; and lastly, how they had been
changed by a Rakshas into the black crows he saw around him.
Then the boy sprang up and said, "Which way did your brothers take
when they met the Rakshas?"
"How can I tell?" she asked.
"Why," he answered, "I thought perhaps you might remember on which
side they returned that first night to you, after being bewitched."
"Oh," she said, "they came toward the tree from that part of the
jungle which lies in a straight line behind the palace."
"Very well," cried Ramchundra, joyfully, "I also will go there, and
find out this wicked old Rakshas, and learn by what means they may be
disenchanted."
"No, no, my son," she answered, "I cannot let you go; see, I have lost
father and mother, and these my hundred brothers; and now, if you fall
into the Rakshas's clutches as well as they, and are lost to me, what
will life have worth living for?"
To this he replied, "Do not fear for me, mother; I will be wary and
discreet." And going to his father, he said, "Father, it is time I
should see something of the world. I beg you to permit me to travel
and see other lands."
The Rajah answered, "You shall go. Tell me what attendants you would
like to accompany you."
"Give me," said Ramchundra, "a horse to ride, and a groom to take care
of it." The Rajah consented, and Ramchundra set off riding toward the
jungle; but as soon as he got there, he sent his horse back by the
groom with a message to his parents and proceeded alone, on foot.
After wandering about for some time he came upon a small hut, in which
lay an ugly old woman fast asleep. She had long claws instead of
hands, and her hair hung down all around her in a thick black tangle.
Ramchundra knew, by the whole appearance of the place, that he must
have reached the Rakshas's abode of which he was in search; so,
stealing softly in, he sat down and began shampooing her head. At last
the Rakshas woke up. "You dear little boy," she said, "do not be
afraid; I am only a poor old woman, and will not hurt you. Stay with
me, and you shall be my servant." This she said not from any feeling
of kindness or pity for Ramchundra, but merely because she thought he
might be helpful to her. So the young Rajah remained in her service,
determining to stay there till he should have learned from her all
that he wished to know.
Thus one day he said to her, "Good mother, what is the use of all
those little jars of water you have arranged round your house?"
She answered, "That water possesses certain magical attributes; if any
of it is sprinkled on people enchanted by me, they instantly resume
their former shape."
"And what," he continued, "is the use of your wand?"
"That," she replied, "has many supernatural powers; for instance, by
simply uttering your wish and waving it in the air, you can conjure up
a mountain, a river or a forest in a moment of time."
Another day Ramchundra said to her, "Your hair, good mother, is
dreadfully tangled; pray let me comb it."
"No," she said, "you must not touch my hair; it would be dangerous;
for every hair has power to set the jungle on fire."
"How is that?" he asked.
She replied, "The least fragment of my hair thrown in the direction of
the jungle would instantly set it in a blaze."
Having learned all this, one day when it was very hot, and the old
Rakshas was drowsy, Ramchundra begged leave to shampoo her head,
which speedily sent her to sleep; then, gently pulling out two or
three of her hairs, he got up, and taking in one hand her wand, and in
the other two jars of the magic water, he stealthily left the hut; but
he had not gone far before she woke up, and instantly divining what he
had done, pursued him with great rapidity. Ramchundra, looking back
and perceiving that she was gaining upon him, waved the enchanted wand
and created a great river, which suddenly rolled its tumultuous waves
between them; but, quick as thought, the Rakshas swam the river.
Then he turned, and waving the wand again, caused a high mountain to
rise between them; but the Rakshas climbed the mountain. Nearer she
came, and yet nearer; each time he turned to use the wand and put
obstacles in her way, the delay gave her a few minutes' advantage, so
that he lost almost as much as he gained. Then, as a last resource, he
scattered the hairs he had stolen to the winds, and instantly the
jungle on the hill side, through which the Rakshas was coming, was set
in a blaze; the fire rose higher and higher, the wicked old Rakshas
was consumed by the flames, and Ramchundra pursued his journey in
safety until he reached his father's palace. Draupadi Bai was
overjoyed to see her son again, and he led her out into the garden,
and scattered the magic water on the hundred black crows, which
instantly recovered their human forms, and stood up one hundred fine,
handsome young men.
Then were there rejoicings throughout the country, because the Ranee's
brothers had been disenchanted; and the Rajah sent out into all
neighbouring lands to invite their Rajahs and Ranees to a great feast
in honour of his brothers-in-law.
Among others who came to the feast was the Rajah, Draupadi Bai's
father, and the twelve wicked Ranees, his wives.
When they were all assembled, Draupadi arose and said to him, "Noble
sir, we had looked to see your wife Guzra Bai with you. Pray you tell
us wherefore she has not accompanied you."
The Rajah was much surprised to learn that Draupadi Bai knew anything
about Guzra Bai, and he said, "Speak not of her: she is a wicked
woman; it is fit that she should end her days in prison."
But Draupadi Bai and her husband, and her hundred brothers rose and
said, "We require, O Rajah, that you send home instantly and fetch
hither that much injured lady, which, if you refuse to do, your wives
shall be imprisoned, and you ignominiously expelled this kingdom."
The Rajah could not guess what the meaning of this was, and thought
they merely wished to pick a quarrel with him; but not much caring
whether Guzra Bai came or not, he sent for her as was desired. When
she arrived, her daughter, Draupadi Bai, and her hundred sons, with
Draupadi Bai's husband and the young Ramchundra, went out to the gate
to meet her, and conducted her into the palace with all honour. Then,
standing around her, they turned to the Rajah, her husband, and
related to him the story of their lives; how that they were his
children, and Guzra Bai their mother; how she had been cruelly
calumniated by the twelve wicked Ranees, and they in constant peril of
their lives; but having miraculously escaped many terrible dangers,
still lived to pay him duteous service and to cheer and support his
old age.
At this news the whole company was very much astonished. The Rajah,
overjoyed, embraced his wife, Guzra Bai, and it was agreed that she
and their hundred sons should return with him to his own land, which
accordingly was done. Ramchundra lived very happily with his father
and mother to the day of their death, when he ascended the throne, and
became a very popular Rajah; and the twelve wicked old Ranees, who had
conspired against Guzra Bai and her children, were, by order of the
Rajah, burned to death. Thus truth triumphed in the end; but so
unequally is human justice meted out that the old nurse, who worked
their evil will, and was in fact the most guilty wretch of all, is
said to have lived unpunished, to have died in the bosom of her
family, and to have had as big a funeral pile as any virtuous Hindoo.
_The Feast of the Lanterns_
Wang Chih was only a poor man, but he had a wife and children to love,
and they made him so happy that he would not have changed places with
the Emperor himself.
He worked in the fields all day, and at night his wife always had a
bowl of rice ready for his supper. And sometimes, for a treat, she
made him some bean soup, or gave him a little dish of fried pork.
But they could not afford pork very often; he generally had to be
content with rice.
One morning, as he was setting off to his work, his wife sent Han
Chung, his son, running after him to ask him to bring home some
firewood.
"I shall have to go up into the mountain for it at noon," he said. "Go
and bring me my axe, Han Chung."