and left him with one daughter. This girl, whose name was Balna, was
very beautiful. After the death of his first wife the fakir married
again. The second wife also had a daughter, but her daughter was as
ugly as Balna was beautiful, and as ill-tempered as Balna was sweet and
gentle.
The stepmother hated Balna and was very jealous of her, and would have
done anything to rid the house of her.
One time the fakir went away on a long journey, leaving his house and
all that was in it in the charge of his wife. The messengers were still
seeking for a bride for the Muchie Rajah, and as soon as the fakir
had gone his wife sent for them, and said, “I have a daughter whom I
am willing to let you have for the Fish Prince, and as she is very
beautiful I am sure you will be delighted with her.”
The messengers were very glad to hear this, and said they would come
for the girl the next day, and bring a lac of gold mohurs to the woman
in payment for her.
After they had gone the stepmother called Balna to her and told her
what she had promised.
The girl was very much frightened. “Alas!” she cried, “what have you
done? The great fish will certainly eat me. If my father had been here
he would never have allowed you to sell me.”
“This is silly talk,” answered the stepmother. “Why should the fish
eat you? He is lonely and wishes a companion. You ought to be proud and
happy to be the wife of a Rajah, even if he is only a fish.”
She then bade the girl go down to the river and wash her _saree_,[1]
that she might be clean and neat when the messengers came for her.
Balna took her _saree_ and went down to the river to wash it, and as
she washed it she wept bitterly.
Now it so happened that an old seven-headed cobra had a hole in the
bank of the river, and lived there with his wife and children. He heard
the sound of weeping just above him, and it kept on for so long that
after a while he stuck one of his heads out of the hole and spoke to
the girl.
“Why are you weeping here?” he said. “Do you not know that your tears
are dropping down into my house like rain, and that they are very salt?”
“Oh, Father Cobra, excuse me,” answered the girl, “but I have good
cause to weep. My stepmother has sold me to be the bride of Muchie
Rajah, and I know he will certainly eat me, for he is very large and
fierce.”
“Listen to me, daughter,” said the cobra, “for I am very wise and know
all things. This great fish you speak of is not a fish at all, but the
Rajah of a far country. In some way he offended the gods, and as a
punishment he was changed into the shape of a fish and sent to live in
the river. Now if you will do exactly what I tell you to do, you can
break this enchantment and become his Ranee; but if you do not do as I
say, then he will of a certainty eat you as you fear.”
The cobra then gave the girl three stones, and bade her tie them into
the corner of her _saree_ so as not to lose them. “To-morrow the
messengers will come and take you to Muchie Rajah,” he said. “They will
put you in the little room in the side of the tank. When it is night,
you must not on any account go to sleep. If you do, you will be lost.
But take these stones in your hand and watch. When he comes near you,
throw a stone at him. Immediately he will sink to the bottom of the
tank and will lie there for a while. When he comes again, throw the
second stone at him and he will again go away, and when he comes for
the third time, throw the third stone. Then the enchantment will be
broken, and he will resume his natural form, and you will have nothing
more to fear from him.”
The girl heard with joy what the cobra said to her. She thanked him and
tied the stones in the corner of the _saree_, and then she ran on home
again. When she went into the house her stepmother was surprised to see
how cheerful she had become. She no longer wept nor complained, and
when, the next day, the messengers came for her, she was quite willing
to go away with them.
[Illustration: SHE MANAGED TO THROW THE THIRD STONE AT HIM]
At the palace the old Ranee was waiting impatiently for the bride, and
she was delighted when she saw what a beautiful girl the messengers had
brought with them.
Balna was taken out to the tank, and a great crowd of people followed
to see what would become of her. Many of them pitied her, and they
wondered that she went so cheerfully, for they expected no less than
that she would be eaten by the great fish.
After she was put in the little room in the side of the tank the crowd
waited about for a long time. Every moment they expected to see Muchie
Rajah rise through the water and swallow her, but nothing happened. The
water lay black and still, and there was no sound but the lapping of
the little waves against the stonework.
After a while night came, and the people grew tired of waiting and went
away to their homes. Balna was left in the little room all alone. She
untied the corner of her saree and took out the three stones. Two she
laid on the floor beside her, and one she kept in her hand.
About midnight the water was disturbed. The waves dashed louder against
the stones. There was a hissing sound, and Muchie Rajah rose through
the water. He came rushing on toward the room, his mouth open, and
his scales as red as rubies.
Balna was terribly frightened, but she held the stone fast and waited.
When he was almost near enough to seize her, she threw the stone at him.
Immediately Muchie Rajah closed his jaws and sank down into the depths
of the water where she could not see him.
After that she waited and watched for some time, but all was still.
Then again the waves dashed louder. They rose to the edge of the
stonework. Muchie Rajah came rushing through the water again, his mouth
open, and his scales shining like fire.
Balna was more frightened than ever, but she threw the second stone at
him, and again he sank through the water, and all was still.
This time he was gone longer than before, and the girl watched and
waited. Then, suddenly, with a roaring sound, he came rushing at her
again; his tail beat the waters into foam about him; his scales shone
so red that the whole tank seemed full of blood.
Balna was almost dead with fright, but she managed to throw the third
stone at him. No sooner did it touch Muchie Rajah than the enchantment
was broken. Instead of the great fish, a handsome young Rajah stood
there before her. He was dressed in cloth of gold embroidered in
wonderful colours. His turban was fastened with an enormous ruby, and
on his breast hung a chain set with precious stones. He took Balna by
the hand and spoke to her.
“You have saved both my life and your own,” he said. “The enchantment
is broken, and now we can live together happily, and you and you only
shall be my bride.”
Very early the next morning the Ranee and her attendants came out
to the tank to see whether the girl was still alive, or whether she
had been eaten by the great fish. What was their surprise to find in
the tank room not only Balna, but a handsome young prince, who told
them he was Muchie Rajah. He also told them how Balna had broken the
enchantment, and that now he would marry her and live in his own proper
shape for ever.
Then there was great rejoicing, and the old Rajah and Ranee adopted
the Fish Prince as their own son, and Balna was to them in place of a
daughter.
When the fakir’s wife heard what had happened to Balna, and how,
instead of being eaten by the fish, she had become the bride of a
great Rajah, she was ready to die with rage and spite. However, she
hid her feelings and went to the palace and made friends with Balna.
She pretended that she had only wished her well, and had known all
along how it would turn out. Balna, who was very simple and forgiving,
believed all the wicked stepmother said to her. She made her and the
step-sister welcome at the palace, and gave them many gifts, but they
only hated her more and more and were always plotting how they could
injure her.
One time Balna and her stepmother and her step-sister went down to walk
by the river in the cool of the afternoon. Presently the step-sister
began to admire the young Ranee’s jewels, and she asked Balna to let
her try them on: “For,” said she, “I have never worn such beautiful
jewels as those are.”
Balna was quite willing, and she took off the jewels and put them upon
her sister—the armlets, the necklaces, the rings, and the bracelets.
Just at the last the step-sister allowed one of the earrings to fall to
the ground. “Look,” cried she, “I have dropped an earring. Do you pick
it up for me, Balna, for I fear that if I stoop others may fall off
too.”
The young Ranee stooped for the earring. Then the stepmother gave her
such a push that she fell into the river. The place where she fell in
was very deep, and she sank out of sight immediately.
The two wicked women waited there for a while, but they saw nothing of
her, so they were sure she must be drowned; then they went back to the
palace.
The step-sister was still wearing all of Balna’s jewels, and she was so
covered up with them that every one thought she was the young Ranee.
They went at once to Balna’s apartments, and there the fakir’s wife put
her daughter to bed, and gave out that the Ranee was very ill and could
see no one. It was a long time before even Muchie Rajah himself was
allowed to enter the room. When he did, he was shocked to see how his
beautiful bride had changed.
“It is because of her illness,” said the fakir’s wife. “Wait until she
is well again, then all will be as it was before.”
The young Rajah never doubted but that it was his bride who lay there,
and he was very unhappy because his delicate Ranee had become so coarse
and ugly and stupid. Still he was kind to her, and often came to visit
her in her apartments.
But Balna had not been drowned as her stepmother and her sister
thought. It so happened that the place where she had fallen into the
river was close to where the old seven-headed cobra had his hole. He
had heard the sound of voices overhead, and then a great splash; he
looked out to see what had caused it, and there he saw the young Ranee
struggling in the water. He felt sorry for her, and reached out and
drew her into his hole. Then he carried her up to where she could get
some air, for his hole had two openings, one into the river and one out
on to the bank overhead.
The young Ranee was almost drowned, but presently she came to herself
again. Then she wished to set out for the palace, but this the cobra
would not allow her to do.
“Your stepmother and your sister are there even now,” he said, “and if
you went back they would certainly do you some harm. Stay here with me,
and if your husband, the Rajah, comes to look for you, I will let you
go back with him, but not otherwise.”
When Balna heard this she was very sad, but she was obliged to stay
there in the cobra’s hole, as he said. After a time her little son was
born there, and she named him Muchie Lal, the Ruby Fish, after his
father.
The little Muchie Lal grew up strong and straight and handsome, and the
old cobra became so fond of him that he loved him better than he did
his own children; there was scarcely anything he would refuse him.
One day a bangle-seller came past the cobra’s hole, and Muchie Lal
wished to buy some of his bangles, but the cobra said, “No, these are
very common bangles, and not suitable for a prince to wear. I will give
the man some jewels, and he shall make for you bangles such as you
ought to have.”
The cobra then brought from his treasure-house a number of diamonds and
rubies and other precious stones. He gave them to the bangle-seller.
“Take these,” he said, “and make them into bangles, and bring them back
to me as quickly as possible and you shall be well paid. And remember,
they must be very handsome, for they are for this prince, Muchie Lal.”
The bangle-seller took the stones home with him and made the bangles,
and they were finished in a week’s time. Then he started out to carry
them back to the cobra. They were very handsome, and he was so proud of
them that he carried them so that every one might see.
Now on his way it so chanced that he met Muchie Rajah, and the prince
was so surprised to see a poor man carrying such costly bangles that he
stopped and began to question him.
“Those are very handsome jewels,” said he. “I have never seen finer.
Even I myself have none like them. Tell me, how did you come by them?”
“They are not mine,” answered the bangle-seller; “they belong to an old
seven-headed cobra who lives down by the river. He gave them to me to
make into bangles for a young prince named Muchie Lal, who lives with
him.”
The Rajah was very much surprised at what the bangle-seller told him.
“This is a strange story,” said he. “I will go with you, for I should
like to see this young prince who lives in a cobra’s hole.”
So Muchie Rajah went down to the river bank with the bangle-seller.
Muchie Lal was there playing close to the cobra’s hole with the young
cobras. When he saw the bangle-seller he ran to meet him, calling to
him to know whether he had brought the bangles; and the young prince
was so exactly like his mother, the beautiful Balna, that the Rajah was
filled with joy and sorrow.
“Tell me, child,” he cried, “who are you, and who was your mother?”
“I am Muchie Lal,” answered the boy, “and my mother is the Ranee Balna,
and we live here by the river in the hole of an old seven-headed cobra.”
Then Muchie Rajah knelt down by the cobra’s hole and called, “Oh, my
dear wife, if it is you, and you are still alive, answer me!”
Balna heard his voice down in the cobra’s hole, and came running out
and threw herself into his arms.
“Oh, I have waited for you so long,” she cried, “but you have come at
last, and now I can go back with you to the palace.”
So they were very happy. Only the cobra was sad to have them go, and
the cobra’s children were grieved to lose their little playmate. But he
promised them to come back sometimes and play with them there by the
river.
Then the Rajah and the Ranee and Muchie Lal all went back to the palace
together, and there was great rejoicing.
But when the fakir’s wife and her daughter heard that Balna was still
alive, and that her husband had found her, they were so frightened that
they ran away and hid themselves in the deep forest, and no one has
ever heard of them again from that day to this.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] A long piece of cotton or silk cloth, forming the principal garment
of Hindu women.
THE MAGIC RICE KETTLE
A KOREAN STORY
THERE was once an old man who was so poor he was scarcely able to buy
food enough to keep him alive.
He had never married, and so he had no children, but he had a little
dog and cat that lived with him, and these two he loved as though they
were his own son and daughter. What little he had was shared with them,
and if they were sometimes hungry, it was because he had nothing in the
house to eat.
One day the old man found that all he had was one scant handful of rice.
“Alas, my little dog and cat, what will become of us now?” he cried.
“This handful of rice is all that is left to keep us alive. After it is
gone, you must seek another master who can feed you better than I. Even
if I must starve, that is no reason why you should too.”
The little cat mewed, and the dog looked up into his master’s face, as
though they had understood all he said to them.
The old man put the rice over the fire to cook, and just as it was
done, and he was about to feed the animals, the light in the hut was
darkened; looking round, he saw a tall stranger standing in the open
doorway.
“Good day,” said the stranger.
“Good day,” answered the old man.
“I have come a long way,” said the stranger, “and I am footsore and
weary. May I come in and rest?”
Yes, he might do that and welcome.
The stranger came in and sat down in the most comfortable place. “I am
hungry as well as weary.”
“Alas,” cried the old man, “this is a poor house in which to seek for
food.”
The stranger looked all about him. “Is not that rice that I see?” he
asked, pointing to the kettle.
“Yes, it is rice, but my little dog and cat are hungry also, and not
another morsel have we in the house beside that.”
“Nevertheless, it is right that a man should be fed before dumb
brutes,” said the stranger. “Give me at least a taste of the rice
before you feed them.”
The old man did not know how to refuse him.
“Take some of it, then,” he said, “but leave a little for them, I beg
of you.”
At once the stranger dipped into the kettle and began to eat, and he
ate so fast that before the old man could stop him, all the rice was
gone from the kettle, to the very last grain.
The old man was cut to the heart to think that his guest could have
done this. Now his little dog and cat would have to go to bed hungry.
All the same, he said nothing. He took up the empty kettle and was
about to put it back on the shelf when the stranger said to him, “Fill
the kettle with water and hang it over the fire again.”
“Why should I do that?” asked the old man. “Water will not fill our
stomachs or satisfy our hunger.”
“Nevertheless, do as I bid you,” said the stranger.
He spoke in such a way that the old man did not dare to disobey him.
Muttering to himself, he filled the kettle with water and hung it over
the fire.
The stranger drew out a piece of something that looked like amber and
threw it in the pot. At once the water began to boil, and as it did so
it became filled with rice. And such rice! The grains were twice as big
as usual, and from them arose a smell more delicious than anything the
old man had ever smelled before in all his life.
Filled with wonder and fear, he turned toward where the stranger had
been sitting, but the guest was gone. He had disappeared, and only the
little cat and dog were left in the room, waiting hungrily for their
dinner.
The old man lifted the kettle from the fire and began to serve out
the rice. And now a still more wonderful thing happened. No matter how
much was dipped out from the kettle, still it was always full. He could
hardly believe his eyes. He dipped and dipped. Soon all the pots and
kettles and bowls in the house were full of rice, and still the more he
took out the more there was.
“It is magic,” cried the old man. “It must be that the amber the
stranger threw in the pot was a charm. If so, puss and my dog and I
need never suffer hunger again.”
And so it turned out to be. As long as the amber was in the kettle, it
was always full of rice to the brim. The rice was always fresh, and
delicious too, so that not only the neighbours but the people from the
village across the river came to buy it; and they paid well for it.
The little cat and dog grew fat and sleek. As for the man, he not only
had enough to eat, but he was able to buy for himself all the clothes
he needed and to make presents to those who were poorer than himself.
One evening the old man felt very tired. So many people had come
through the day to buy rice that his arm quite ached with serving it
out.
He took a bowl and filled it for the cat and dog, and was about to set
it on the floor when he noticed to his surprise that the kettle was not
as full as it had been. He took another bowl and dipped out some more
of the rice. The kettle failed to fill itself.
Again he dipped, and the more he took out, the emptier the kettle grew.
The old man was very much frightened. He plunged his hands into the
rice that was left in the kettle and began to feel about for the charm,
but it was not there. Somehow, that day, while he was dipping out the
rice for his customers, he must have dipped out the charm, and some one
had carried it off home with his bowl of rice.
The old man was ready to tear his hair with despair. At once he ran out
and began to go about the neighbourhood, knocking at all the doors and
begging to know whether a piece of amber had been found in the rice the
people there had bought that day. But every one told him no. They had
found nothing in their bowls but rice.
Worn out with sorrow, he went back to his hut at last and threw himself
on the floor to sleep. It was a long time, however, before he could
close his eyes. Soon all the money that had been paid him for the rice
would be spent, and he was too old to work. Then there would be nothing
for him but the same poverty and hunger he had endured for so many
years. And his little dog and cat would have to suffer with him unless
they were wise enough to run away and seek another master. At last,
toward morning, the old man fell asleep, and then the dog and cat
began to talk together in low tones.
“This is a bad business,” said the dog.
“Bad enough,” answered puss. “Our master has been very careless. He
deserves to suffer. As for me, I have no notion of being half-starved
again the way I used to be. I shall go away and try to find another
home where there will be more to eat than here.”
“You are very ungrateful,” answered the dog. “Instead of planning to
run away, you ought to set your wits to work to think how we can help
our master.”
“But how could we do that? I know of no way.”
“Let us go out and hunt for the charm. Perhaps we can find it. Our
sense of smell is so keen that if we came anywhere near where it is I
am sure we could find it, however well it was hidden. We will go from
house to house—all through the village, if need be. I will nose about
in the gardens and out-buildings, and you must manage to creep into the
houses and hunt about through the rooms.”
“Very well,” answered the cat. “I am sure I would be glad enough to
help our master, and to stay with him too, if only he could give us
enough to eat.”
So, early the next day, before the old man was awake, the dog and the
cat started out together on their search. The people of the village
were still asleep, but the cat managed to find a way to creep into
several of the houses, and the dog searched about outside, as he had
promised to do.
But with all their searchings, they found nothing except some scraps
of food here and there. These they ate, and so satisfied their hunger
somewhat. Then, when night came, they returned home, footsore and weary.
The old man was very glad to see them. All day he had missed them and
had wondered where they were. He had saved some supper for them and
was surprised that they did not seem more hungry for it. He was still
very sad. All day people had been coming to the hut to buy rice from
him, and when they found he had none to sell, they had been very much
disappointed. Some of them had even been angry and had scolded him.
The following day the dog and cat continued their search, but night
found them still unsuccessful. So it went on, day after day and week
after week. At last they had visited every house in the village, but
they had seen and heard nothing of the charm.
“Now you see how it is. We are only wasting our time,” said the cat.
“I knew we could not find it, and I, for one, shall begin to look for
another home.”
“Nay, but wait a bit,” answered the dog. “Have you forgotten that many
of our master’s customers came from the village across the river? We
have not searched there yet.”
“No, nor will we as far as I am concerned,” answered the cat. “I am
no swimmer. I have no idea of getting drowned. If you want to search
there, you will have to go by yourself.”
The dog began to beg and plead with her. “Very soon,” said he, “the
river will be frozen, and then we can cross on the ice without your
wetting even the smallest toe of your paw. Only come!”
“Very well,” said the cat at last. “I will do it; but mind you, we must
wait until the river is well frozen, and there is no chance of our
breaking through.”
The dog agreed to this, and so, one cold day, when the river was as
hard as stone, the two friends crossed to the farther side, and at once
began to search the houses there.
At the first house they found nothing. At the second it was the same
thing; but no sooner had the cat entered the third house than she
smelled something that reminded her of the rice that had bubbled up in
the magic kettle. She made her way from one room to the other, and at
last she came to a small upper chamber that seemed to be unused. And
now she could smell the charm more strongly than ever, and the smell
seemed to come from the top of a high chest of drawers.
With a bound puss leaped to the top of it and looked about her. There,
pushed well back against the wall, was a heavy wooden box, and the
moment the cat put her nose to the keyhole she knew that the charm was
inside of it.