Long ages ago there lived in Western India a King who had a very
clever son. In order to make the best advantage of his understanding,
and to fit him in every way to become an accomplished sovereign,
the King sent him into the Diamond-kingdom (1), that he might be
thoroughly instructed in all kinds of knowledge. He was accompanied
in his journey by the son of the king's chief minister, who was also
to share his studies, but who was as dull as he was intelligent. On
their arrival in the Diamond-kingdom, they gave each of them the sum
with which they had been provided by their parents to two Lamas to
conduct their education, and spent twelve years with them.
At the end of the twelve years the minister's son proposed to the
king's son that they should now return home, and as the Lamas allowed
that the king's son had made such progress in the five kinds of
knowledge that there was nothing more he could learn, he agreed to
the proposal, and they set out on their homeward way.
All went well at first; but one day passed, and then another, and yet
another, that they came to no source of water, and being parched nigh
unto death with thirst, the minister's son would have laid him down
to die. As he stood hesitating about going on, a crow passed and made
his cry of "ikerek." The prince now encouraged his companion, saying,
"Come but a little way farther, and we shall find water."
"Nay, you deceive me not like an infant of days," answered the
minister's son. "How shall we find water? Have we not laboured over
the journey these three days, and found none; neither shall we find
it now? Why should we add to this death of thirst the pangs of useless
fatigue also?"
But the king's son said again, "Nay, but of a certainty we shall now
find it."
And when he asked, "How knowest thou this of a certainty?" he replied,
"I heard yon crow cry as he passed, 'Go forward five hundred paces
in a southerly direction, and you will come to a source of pure,
bright fresh water.'"
The king's son spoke with so much certainty that he had not strength
to resist him; and so they went on five hundred paces farther in a
southerly direction, and then they indeed came upon a pure, bright
spring of water, where they sat down, and drank, and refreshed
themselves.
As they sat there, the minister's son was moved with jealousy, for,
thought he within himself, in every art this prince has exceeded me,
and when we return to our own country, all shall see how superior
he is to me in every kind of attainment. Then he said aloud to the
king's son,--
"If we keep along this road, which leads over the level plain, where
we can be seen ever so far off, may be robbers will see us, and,
coming upon us, will slay us. Shall we not rather take the path which
leads over the mountain, where the trees will hide us, and pass the
night under cover of the wood?" And this he said in order to lead the
prince into the forest, that he might slay him there unperceived. But
the prince, who had no evil suspicion, willingly agreed to his words,
and they took the path of the mountain. When they had well entered
the thick wood, the minister's son fell upon the prince from behind,
and slew him. The prince in dying said nothing but the one word,
"Abaraschika (2)."
As soon as he had well hidden the body, the minister's son continued
on his way.
As he came near the city, the King went out to greet him, accompanied
by all his ministers, and followed by much people; but when he found
that his son was not there, he fell into great anxiety, and eagerly
inquired after him. "Thy son," answered the minister's son, "died on
the journey."
At these words, the King burst into an agony of grief, crying,
"Alas, my son! mine only son! Without thee, what shall all my royal
power and state, what shall all my hundred cities, profit me?" Amid
these bitter cries he made his way back to the palace. As he dwelt
on his grief, the thought came to him, "Shall not my son when dying
at least have left some word expressive of his last thoughts and
wishes?" Then he sent and inquired this thing of his companion,
to which, the minister's son made answer, "Thy son was overtaken
with a quick and sudden malady, and as he breathed out his life,
he had only time to utter the single word, Abaraschika."
Hearing this the King was fully persuaded the word must have some deep
and hidden meaning; but as he was unable to think it out, he summoned
all the seers, soothsayers, magicians, and astrologers (3) of his
kingdom, and inquired of them what this same word Abaraschika could
mean. There was not, however, one of them all that could help him to
the meaning. Then said the King, "The last word that my son uttered,
even mine only son, this is dear to me. There is no doubt that it is a
word in which by all the arts that he had studied and acquired he knew
how to express much, though he had not time to utter many words. Ye,
therefore, who are also learned in cunning arts ought to be able to
tell the interpretation of the same, but if not, then of what use
are ye? It were better that ye were dead from off the face of the
earth. Wherefore, I give you the space of seven days to search in
all your writings and to exercise all your arts, and if at the end
of seven days ye are none of you able to tell me the interpretation,
then shall I deliver you over to death."
With that he commanded that they should be all secured in an exceeding
high fortress for the space of seven days, and well watched that they
might not escape.
The seven days passed away, and not one of them was at all nearer
telling the interpretation of Abaraschika than on the first day. "Of
a certainty we shall all be put to death to-morrow," was repeated all
through the place, and some cried to the devas and some sat still
and wept, speaking only of the relations and friends they would
leave behind.
Meantime, a student of an inferior sort, who waited on the others and
learned between whiles, had contrived to escape, not being under such
strict guard as his more important brethren. At night-time he took
shelter under a leafy tree. As he lay there a bird and its young
ones came to roost on the boughs above him. One of the young ones
instead of going to sleep went on complaining through the night, "I'm
so hungry! I'm so hungry!" At last the old bird began to console it,
saying, "Cry not, my son; for to-morrow there will be plenty of food."
"And why should there be more food to-morrow than to-day?" asked the
young bird.
"Because to-morrow," answered the mother, "the Khan has made
preparations to put a thousand men to death. That will be a feast
indeed!"
"And why should he put so many men to death?" persisted the young bird.
"Because," interposed the father, "though they are all wise men,
not one of them can tell him such a simple thing as the meaning of
the word Abaraschika."
"What does it mean, then?" inquired the young bird.
"The meaning of the word is this: 'This, my bosom friend, hath enticed
me into a thick grove, and there, wounding me with a sharp knife,
hath taken away my life, and is even now preparing to cut off my
head.'" This the old bird told to his young.
The young student, however, hearing these words waited to hear no
more, but set off at his best speed towards the tower where all his
companions were confined. About daybreak he reached the gates, and
made his way in all haste in to them. In the midst of their weeping
and lamenting over the morning which they reckoned that of their day
of death, he cried out,--
"Weep no more! I have discovered the meaning of the word."
Just then the Khan's guard came to conduct them to the Khan for
examination preparatory to their being given over to execution. Here
the young student declared to the Khan the meaning of the word
Abaraschika. Having heard which the Khan dismissed them all with rich
presents, but privately bid them declare to no man the meaning of the
word. Then he sent for the minister's son, and without giving him any
hint of his intention, bid him go before him and show him where lay
the bones of his son, which when he had seen and built a tomb over
them, he ordered the minister and his son both to be put to death.
"That Khan's son, so well versed in the five kinds of knowledge,
would have been an honour and ornament to his kingdom, had he not
been thus untimely cut off," exclaimed the Khan.
And as he let these words escape him, the Siddhî-kür replied,
"Forgetting his health, the Well-and-wise-walking Khan hath opened
his lips." And with the cry, "To escape out of this world is good!" he
sped him through the air, swift out of sight.