Told by Dunkni.

[Decoration]



[Decoration]

XIV.

LOVING LAILI.

Once there was a king called King Dantal, who had a great many rupees and soldiers and horses. He had also an only son called Prince Majnun, who was a handsome boy with white teeth, red lips, blue eyes, red cheeks, red hair, and a white skin. This boy was very fond of playing with the Wazir's son, Husain Mahamat, in King Dantal's garden, which was very large and full of delicious fruits, and flowers, and trees. They used to take their little knives there and cut the fruits and eat them. King Dantal had a teacher for them to teach them to read and write.

One day, when they were grown two fine young men, Prince Majnun said to his father, "Husain Mahamat and I should like to go and hunt." His father said they might go, so they got ready their horses and all else they wanted for their hunting, and went to the Phalana country, hunting all the way, but they only found jackals and birds.

The Raja of the Phalana country was called Munsuk Raja, and he had a daughter named Laili, who was very beautiful; she had brown eyes and black hair.

One night, some time before Prince Majnun came to her father's kingdom, as she slept, God sent to her an angel in the form of a man who told her that she should marry Prince Majnun and no one else, and that this was God's command to her. When Laili woke she told her father of the angel's visit to her as she slept; but her father paid no attention to her story. From that time she began repeating, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun," and would say nothing else. Even as she sat and ate her food she kept saying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun." Her father used to get quite vexed with her. "Who is this Majnun? who ever heard of this Majnun?" he would say. "He is the man I am to marry," said Laili. "God has ordered me to marry no one but Majnun." And she was half mad. Meanwhile, Majnun and Husain Mahamat came to hunt in the Phalana country; and as they were riding about, Laili came out on her horse to eat the air, and rode behind them. All the time she kept saying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun." The prince heard her, and turned round. "Who is calling me?" he asked. At this Laili looked at him, and the moment she saw him she fell deeply in love with him, and she said to herself, "I am sure that is the Prince Majnun that God says I am to marry." And she went home to her father and said, "Father, I wish to marry the prince who has come to your kingdom; for I know he is the Prince Majnun I am to marry." "Very well, you shall have him for your husband," said Munsuk Raja. "We will ask him to-morrow." Laili consented to wait, although she was very impatient. As it happened, the prince left the Phalana kingdom that night, and when Laili heard he was gone, she went quite mad. She would not listen to a word her father, or her mother, or her servants said to her, but went off into the jungle, and wandered from jungle to jungle, till she got farther and farther away from her own country. All the time she kept saying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun;" and so she wandered about for twelve years.

At the end of the twelve years she met a fakir—he was really an angel, but she did not know this—who asked her, "Why do you always say, 'Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun'?" She answered, "I am the daughter of the king of the Phalana country, and I want to find Prince Majnun; tell me where his kingdom is." "I think you will never get there," said the fakir, "for it is very far from hence, and you have to cross many rivers to reach it." But Laili said she did not care; she must see Prince Majnun. "Well," said the fakir, "when you come to the Bhagirathi river you will see a big fish, a Rohu; and you must get him to carry you to Prince Majnun's country, or you will never reach it."

She went on and on, and at last she came to the Bhagirathi river. There there was a great big fish called the Rohu fish. It was yawning just as she got up to it, and she instantly jumped down its throat into its stomach. All the time she kept saying, "Majnun, Majnun." At this the Rohu fish was greatly alarmed and swam down the river as fast as he could. By degrees he got tired and went slower, and a crow came and perched on his back, and said, "Caw, caw." "Oh, Mr. Crow," said the poor fish, "do see what is in my stomach that makes such a noise." "Very well," said the crow, "open your mouth wide, and I'll fly down and see." So the Rohu opened his jaws and the crow flew down, but he came up again very quickly. "You have a Rakshas in your stomach," said the crow, and he flew away. This news did not comfort the poor Rohu, and he swam on and on till he came to Prince Majnun's country. There he stopped. And a jackal came down to the river to drink. "Oh, jackal," said the Rohu, "do tell me what I have inside me." "How can I tell?" said the jackal. "I cannot see unless I go inside you." So the Rohu opened his mouth wide, and the jackal jumped down his throat; but he came up very quickly, looking much frightened and saying, "You have a Rakshas in your stomach, and if I don't run away quickly, I am afraid it will eat me." So off he ran. After the jackal came an enormous snake. "Oh," says the fish, "do tell me what I have in my stomach, for it rattles about so, and keeps saying, 'Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun.'" The snake said, "Open your mouth wide, and I'll go down and see what it is." The snake went down: when he returned he said, "You have a Rakshas in your stomach; but if you will let me cut you open, it will come out of you." "If you do that, I shall die," said the Rohu. "Oh, no," said the snake, "you will not, for I will give you a medicine that will make you quite well again." So the fish agreed, and the snake got a knife and cut him open, and out jumped Laili.

She was now very old. Twelve years she had wandered about the jungle, and for twelve years she had lived inside her Rohu; and she was no longer beautiful, and had lost her teeth. The snake took her on his back and carried her into the country, and there he put her down, and she wandered on and on till she got to Majnun's court-house, where King Majnun was sitting. There some men heard her crying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun," and they asked her what she wanted. "I want King Majnun," she said. So they went in and said to Prince Majnun, "An old woman outside says she wants you." "I cannot leave this place," said he; "send her in here." They brought her in and the prince asked her what she wanted. "I want to marry you," she answered. "Twenty-four years ago you came to my father the Phalana Raja's country, and I wanted to marry you then; but you went away without marrying me. Then I went mad, and I have wandered about all these years looking for you." Prince Majnun said, "Very good." "Pray to God," said Laili, "to make us both young again, and then we shall be married." So the prince prayed to God, and God said to him, "Touch Laili's clothes and they will catch fire, and when they are on fire, she and you will become young again." When he touched Laili's clothes they caught fire, and she and he became young again. And there were great feasts, and they were married, and travelled to the Phalana country to see her father and mother.

Now Laili's father and mother had wept so much for their daughter that they had become quite blind, and her father kept always repeating, "Laili, Laili, Laili." When Laili saw their blindness, she prayed to God to restore their sight to them, which he did. As soon as the father and mother saw Laili, they hugged her and kissed her, and then they had the wedding all over again amid great rejoicings. Prince Majnun and Laili stayed with Munsuk Raja and his wife for three years, and then they returned to King Dantal, and lived happily for some time with him.

They used to go out hunting, and they often went from country to country to eat the air and amuse themselves.

One day Prince Majnun said to Laili, "Let us go through this jungle." "No, no," said Laili; "if we go through this jungle, some harm will happen to me." But Prince Majnun laughed, and went into the jungle. And as they were going through it, God thought, "I should like to know how much Prince Majnun loves his wife. Would he be very sorry if she died? And would he marry another wife? I will see." So he sent one of his angels in the form of a fakir into the jungle; and the angel went up to Laili, and threw some powder in her face, and instantly she fell to the ground a heap of ashes.

Prince Majnun was in great sorrow and grief when he saw his dear Laili turn into a little heap of ashes; and he went straight home to his father, and for a long, long time he would not be comforted. After a great many years he grew more cheerful and happy, and began to go again into his father's beautiful garden with Husain Mahamat. King Dantal wished his son to marry again. "I will only have Laili for my wife; I will not marry any other woman," said Prince Majnun. "How can you marry Laili? Laili is dead. She will never come back to you," said the father. "Then I'll not have any wife at all," said Prince Majnun.

Meanwhile Laili was living in the jungle where her husband had left her a little heap of ashes. As soon as Majnun had gone, the fakir had taken her ashes and made them quite clean, and then he had mixed clay and water with the ashes, and made the figure of a woman with them, and so Laili regained her human form, and God sent life into it. But Laili had become once more a hideous old woman, with a long, long nose, and teeth like tusks; just such an old woman, excepting her teeth, as she had been when she came out of the Rohu fish; and she lived in the jungle, and neither ate nor drank, and she kept on saying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun."

At last the angel who had come as a fakir and thrown the powder at her, said to God, "Of what use is it that this woman should sit in the jungle crying, crying for ever, 'Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun,' and eating and drinking nothing? Let me take her to Prince Majnun." "Well," said God, "you may do so; but tell her that she must not speak to Majnun if he is afraid of her when he sees her; and that if he is afraid when he sees her, she will become a little white dog the next day. Then she must go to the palace, and she will only regain her human shape when Prince Majnun loves her, feeds her with his own food, and lets her sleep in his bed." So the angel came to Laili again as a fakir and carried her to King Dantal's garden. "Now," he said, "it is God's command that you stay here till Prince Majnun comes to walk in the garden, and then you may show yourself to him. But you must not speak to him, if he is afraid of you; and should he be afraid of you, you will the next day become a little white dog." He then told her what she must do as a little dog to regain her human form.

Laili stayed in the garden, hidden in the tall grass, till Prince Majnun and Husain Mahamat came to walk in the garden. King Dantal was now a very old man, and Husain Mahamat, though he was really only as old as Prince Majnun, looked a great deal older than the prince, who had been made quite young again when he married Laili.

As Prince Majnun and the Wazir's son walked in the garden, they gathered the fruit as they had done as little children, only they bit the fruit with their teeth; they did not cut it. While Majnun was busy eating a fruit in this way, and was talking to Husain Mahamat, he turned towards him and saw Laili walking behind the Wazir's son. "Oh, look, look!" he cried, "see what is following you; it is a Rakshas or a demon, and I am sure it is going to eat us." Laili looked at him beseechingly with all her eyes, and trembled with age and eagerness; but this only frightened Majnun the more. "It is a Rakshas, a Rakshas!" he cried, and he ran quickly to the palace with the Wazir's son; and as they ran away, Laili disappeared into the jungle. They ran to King Dantal, and Majnun told him there was a Rakshas or a demon in the garden that had come to eat them. "What nonsense," said his father. "Fancy two grown men being so frightened by an old ayah or a fakir! And if it had been a Rakshas, it would not have eaten you." Indeed King Dantal did not believe Majnun had seen anything at all, till Husain Mahamat said the prince was speaking the exact truth. They had the garden searched for the terrible old woman, but found nothing, and King Dantal told his son he was very silly to be so much frightened. However, Prince Majnun would not walk in the garden any more.

The next day Laili turned into a pretty little dog; and in this shape she came into the palace, where Prince Majnun soon became very fond of her. She followed him everywhere, went with him when he was out hunting, and helped him to catch his game, and Prince Majnun fed her with milk, or bread, or anything else he was eating, and at night the little dog slept in his bed.

But one night the little dog disappeared, and in its stead there lay the little old woman who had frightened him so much in the garden; and now Prince Majnun was quite sure she was a Rakshas, or a demon, or some such horrible thing come to eat him; and in his terror he cried out, "What do you want? Oh, do not eat me; do not eat me!" Poor Laili answered, "Don't you know me? I am your wife Laili, and I want to marry you. Don't you remember how you would go through that jungle, though I begged and begged you not to go, for I told you that harm would happen to me, and then a fakir came and threw powder in my face, and I became a heap of ashes. But God gave me my life again, and brought me here, after I had stayed a long, long while in the jungle crying for you, and now I am obliged to be a little dog; but if you will marry me, I shall not be a little dog any more." Majnun, however, said "How can I marry an old woman like you? how can you be Laili? I am sure you are a Rakshas or a demon come to eat me," and he was in great terror.

In the morning the old woman had turned into the little dog, and the prince went to his father and told him all that had happened. "An old woman! an old woman! always an old woman!" said his father. "You do nothing but think of old women. How can a strong man like you be so easily frightened?" However, when he saw that his son was really in great terror, and that he really believed the old woman would come back at night, he advised him to say to her, "I will marry you if you can make yourself a young girl again. How can I marry such an old woman as you are?"

That night as he lay trembling in bed the little old woman lay there in place of the dog, crying, "Majnun, Majnun, I want to marry you. I have loved you all these long, long years. When I was in my father's kingdom a young girl, I knew of you, though you knew nothing of me, and we should have been married then if you had not gone away so suddenly, and for long, long years I followed you." "Well," said Majnun, "if you can make yourself a young girl again, I will marry you."

Laili said, "Oh, that is quite easy. God will make me a young girl again. In two days' time you must go into the garden, and there you will see a beautiful fruit. You must gather it and bring it into your room and cut it open yourself very gently, and you must not open it when your father or anybody else is with you, but when you are quite alone; for I shall be in the fruit quite naked, without any clothes at all on." In the morning Laili took her little dog's form, and disappeared in the garden.

Prince Majnun told all this to his father, who told him to do all the old woman had bidden him. In two days' time he and the Wazir's son walked in the garden, and there they saw a large, lovely red fruit. "Oh!" said the Prince, "I wonder shall I find my wife in that fruit." Husain Mahamat wanted him to gather it and see, but he would not till he had told his father, who said, "That must be the fruit; go and gather it." So Majnun went back and broke the fruit off its stalk; and he said to his father, "Come with me to my room while I open it; I am afraid to open it alone, for perhaps I shall find a Rakshas in it that will eat me." "No," said King Dantal; "remember, Laili will be naked; you must go alone, and do not be afraid if, after all, a Rakshas is in the fruit, for I will stay outside the door, and you have only to call me with a loud voice, and I will come to you, so the Rakshas will not be able to eat you."

Then Majnun took the fruit and began to cut it open tremblingly, for he shook with fear; and when he had cut it, out stepped Laili, young and far more beautiful than she had ever been. At the sight of her extreme beauty, Majnun fell backwards fainting on the floor.

Laili took off his turban and wound it all round herself like a sari (for she had no clothes at all on), and then she called King Dantal, and said to him sadly, "Why has Majnun fallen down like this? Why will he not speak to me? He never used to be afraid of me; and he has seen me so many, many times." King Dantal answered, "It is because you are so beautiful. You are far, far more beautiful than you ever were. But he will be very happy directly." Then the King got some water, and they bathed Majnun's face and gave him some to drink, and he sat up again. Then Laili said, "Why did you faint? Did you not see I am Laili?" "Oh!" said Prince Majnun, "I see you are Laili come back to me, but your eyes have grown so wonderfully beautiful, that I fainted when I saw them." Then they were all very happy, and King Dantal had all the drums in the place beaten, and had all the musical instruments played on, and they made a grand wedding-feast, and gave presents to the servants, and rice and quantities of rupees to the fakirs.

After some time had passed very happily, Prince Majnun and his wife went out to eat the air. They rode on the same horse, and had only a groom with them. They came to another kingdom, to a beautiful garden. "We must go into that garden and see it," said Majnun. "No, no," said Laili; "it belongs to a bad Raja, Chumman Basa, a very wicked man." But Majnun insisted on going in, and in spite of all Laili could say, he got off the horse to look at the flowers. Now, as he was looking at the flowers, Laili saw Chumman Basa coming towards them, and she read in his eyes that he meant to kill her husband and seize her. So she said to Majnun, "Come, come, let us go; do not go near that bad man. I see in his eyes, and I feel in my heart, that he will kill you to seize me." "What nonsense," said Majnun. "I believe he is a very good Raja. Anyhow, I am so near to him that I could not get away." "Well," said Laili, "it is better that you should be killed than I, for if I were to be killed a second time, God would not give me my life again; but I can bring you to life if you are killed." Now Chumman Basa had come quite near, and seemed very pleasant, so thought Prince Majnun; but when he was speaking to Majnun, he drew his scimitar and cut off the prince's head at one blow.

Laili sat quite still on her horse, and as the Raja came towards her she said, "Why did you kill my husband?" "Because I want to take you," he answered. "You cannot," said Laili. "Yes, I can," said the Raja. "Take me, then," said Laili to Chumman Basa; so he came quite close and put out his hand to take hers to lift her off her horse. But she put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a tiny knife, only as long as her hand was broad, and this knife unfolded itself in one instant till it was such a length! and then Laili made a great sweep with her arm and her long, long knife, and off came Chumman Basa's head at one touch.

Then Laili slipped down off her horse, and she went to Majnun's dead body, and she cut her little finger inside her hand straight down from the top of her nail to her palm, and out of this gushed blood like healing medicine. Then she put Majnun's head on his shoulders, and smeared her healing blood all over the wound, and Majnun woke up and said, "What a delightful sleep I have had! Why, I feel as if I had slept for years!" Then he got up and saw the Raja's dead body by Laili's horse. "What's that?" said Majnun. "That is the wicked Raja who killed you to seize me, just as I said he would." "Who killed him?" asked Majnun. "I did," answered Laili, "and it was I who brought you to life." "Do bring the poor man to life if you know how to do so," said Majnun. "No," said Laili, "for he is a wicked man, and will try to do you harm." But Majnun asked her for such a long time, and so earnestly to bring the wicked Raja to life, that at last she said, "Jump up on the horse, then, and go far away with the groom." "What will you do," said Majnun, "if I leave you? I cannot leave you." "I will take care of myself," said Laili; "but this man is so wicked, he may kill you again if you are near him." So Majnun got up on the horse, and he and the groom went a long way off and waited for Laili. Then she set the wicked Raja's head straight on his shoulders, and she squeezed the wound in her finger till a little blood-medicine came out of it. Then she smeared this over the place where her knife had passed, and just as she saw the Raja opening his eyes, she began to run, and she ran, and ran so fast, that she outran the Raja, who tried to catch her; and she sprang up on the horse behind her husband, and they rode so fast, so fast, till they reached King Dantal's palace.

There Prince Majnun told everything to his father, who was horrified and angry. "How lucky for you that you have such a wife," he said. "Why did you not do what she told you? But for her, you would be now dead." Then he made a great feast out of gratitude for his son's safety, and gave many, many rupees to the fakirs. And he made so much of Laili. He loved her dearly; he could not do enough for her. Then he built a splendid palace for her and his son, with a great deal of ground about it, and lovely gardens, and gave them great wealth, and heaps of servants to wait on them. But he would not allow any but their servants to enter their gardens and palace, and he would not allow Majnun to go out of them, nor Laili; "for," said King Dantal, "Laili is so beautiful, that perhaps some one may kill my son to take her away."

Told by Dunkni.



[Decoration]

XV.

HOW KING BURTAL BECAME A FAKIR.

Once there was a great king called Burtal, and he had a hundred and sixty wives, but he had no children, which made him sad. One day he said to his wives, "I am going to a very distant jungle which is full of antelopes, to hunt them." "Very well," they answered, "go." So he went. In that jungle lived neither tigers nor men, but only antelopes. When King Burtal reached the jungle, some of the antelopes came to him and said, "Pray don't kill the black antelope, for he is our Raja, and we have no other antelope like him among us; but try to kill any of the others—the brown or the yellow antelopes—that you choose." Now, the king was not a kind man, and he said, "I will kill your black antelope, and no other." So he shot him dead. When the other antelopes saw this they began to scream and cry with sorrow. But the dead antelope's wife said to them, "There is a holy man, a fakir, in the jungle. Let us take the dead body to him and ask him to bring our Raja to life." And King Burtal laughed at them and said, "How can any man bring a dead antelope to life?" But the antelopes took the body of their dead Raja on their backs, and the dead antelope's wife went at their head; and King Burtal went too; and they carried it to the fakir, who was called Goraknath, and who was resting in the jungle, and they said to him, "Bring our Raja to life again, for what can we do without a Raja? and he has left no son to succeed him." And the queen antelope said, "I have no other husband. I had only this one husband. Do bring him to life for me." King Burtal laughed and mocked them, and said to the fakir, "I never heard of any man being able to bring a dead antelope to life. I don't believe you can do it." At this Goraknath got angry, and he knelt down and asked God to bring the antelope to life; and God told him to take a wand and beat the dead antelope with it, and then the antelope would be alive again. So Goraknath took a wand and beat the dead antelope, and it was alive once more, and then it instantly sprang up into heaven. The antelopes were delighted to see their Raja alive again, and they said, "We do not mind his going up to heaven, for he will come down again to us."

King Burtal had stood by all the time, and he said to Goraknath, "Make me a fakir like yourself," for he thought it would be fine to do such wonderful things. But Goraknath would not, and King Burtal stayed in the jungle with Goraknath for twelve years, and all that time he never ceased begging and praying to be made a fakir, till at last Goraknath said, "I cannot make you a fakir unless you go home and address your wives as 'Mamma,' and ask them to give you money and food." Now, it is a very shameful thing to call one's wife 'Mamma,' for if a wife is called 'Mamma' she has to leave her husband. Then Goraknath took off the king's clothes, and dressed him only in a cloth and a tiger's skin; and the king went to his palace and began begging for rice and food, and he would not take any from the palace servants: he said he must and would see the Ranis, and that they themselves should give him food. The servants told the Ranis about this fakir who said he must and would see them himself, and that they should give him food and rice with their own hands, and one of their ayahs, who had recognized King Burtal, told them the fakir was their husband who had been away twelve years. The Ranis cried out, "Do not talk nonsense. That fakir can never be our husband." "Go and see for yourselves," answered the ayah. They went, and the fakir said to them, "Mamma, give me rice." "Why do you call us 'Mamma'?" they said. "We have no sons. You are not our son." But at last they saw he was indeed their husband, and they wrung their hands and wept bitterly, and threw themselves on the ground before him and said, "Why have you called us 'Mamma'? Why do you ask for bread? We must now leave you." "Don't go away," said the king. "Take my kingdom, my money, my houses, and stay here till I return. I am going to be a fakir." His wives gave him some rice and some money, and he went back to Goraknath.

In old days men who intended to become fakirs had to do three tasks set them by one who was already a fakir; so Goraknath said to the king, "Now you must go to a jungle that I will show you, and stay there for twelve years." Then King Burtal took the flat pan and the rolling-pin which he used in making his flour cakes, and was quite ready to start for the jungle, but the fakir stopped him. "You must leave your pan and your rolling-pin behind," he said; "and all these twelve years you must neither eat nor drink, or you can never be a fakir. You must sit quite still on the same spot and never move." "I shall die if I don't eat," said the king; "but I don't care if I do die, so I will do all you tell me." Then the fakir took him to a jungle, and made him sit down on the grass, and instantly all the grass round him grew up so tall and thick that King Burtal was quite hidden by it, and no one could see him. Here he lived for twelve years, and never moved, and he ate nothing, and drank nothing, and nobody knew he was there.

At the end of that time Goraknath came and took him away and said, "Now go home to your wives." "Why should I go to my wives? I do not wish to see my wives, for they have given me no children," said King Burtal. But Goraknath said, "Go and see them." So King Burtal went; and he begged for rice from them; and they entreated him to stay with them, but he would not. "I will return to the fakir Goraknath," he said. "Why should I stay with you? You have never given me a child. What use is all my wealth to me? I have no son to take it when I am dead. I will become a fakir." And they threw themselves on the ground and wrung their hands, and said, "Oh, why will you leave us?" He answered, "Because it pleases me to do so." And he called them all "Mamma," and told them to stay in his palace and take all he possessed for their own use. Then he returned to Goraknath.

"Now," said Goraknath, "you must learn to be sweeper to all the beasts of the jungle, and you must serve them for twelve years." So for twelve years King Burtal cleared the grass and kept the jungle clean for all the creatures in it—cows, sheep, goats, tigers, cats, bears. Sometimes he stayed in one part of the jungle, and sometimes in another.

When the twelve years were over he went to Goraknath, who said to him, "Good; you have learnt to serve the wild beasts; now you must learn to serve men." Then the fakir took the king to a village, and bade him sweep it and keep it clean for twelve years. Here King Burtal stayed for another twelve years, and all that time he was the village-sweeper and kept the village clean, and he swept all the dust and dirt into a great heap till the heap was as high and as big as a hut.

When the twelve years were over he returned to Goraknath and stood before him, and as he stood there came a man who was an angel sent by God, and he threw some dirt on King Burtal's head; but the king never moved nor spoke. "Now," cried Goraknath, "I see you are a true fakir: go and cleanse yourself by bathing in the river."

The river in which he was sent to bathe was the Jamna. In this river lived water-nymphs, and the nymph Ganga was playing in it when her sister Jamna[3] came to her and said, "Come quickly; our father is dying and wants to see you;" and off Jamna went to her father. Ganga was hurrying after her when King Burtal saw her, and stopped her, and asked her where she was going so fast. "To my father, who is very ill and dying," said Ganga; "let me go." "I will not let you go," said King Burtal. Then Ganga began to run, and said, "You cannot keep me, you cannot catch me; no man can catch me, no man can keep me." This provoked King Burtal, and he said, "I can catch you, and I can keep you." "No, no," she answered; "no one can catch me, no one can hold me." Then King Burtal got quite vexed, and he ran till he caught her, and then he said, "Now, I will not let you go; I will keep you." Then he held her in his hands and rubbed her between his palms, and when he opened his hands she had turned into a little round ball. He tried to hide the ball in his hair, but could not, for his hair was too short, and he found he could not hold Ganga, as she was too strong for him; so he thought he would take her to Mahadeo,[4] who had long thick hair, and make him keep her, for King Burtal was dreadfully frightened and did not dare let the ball go, for fear Ganga, who he knew was very angry, should take her own form and bring a great flood to drown him. So he went quickly to Mahadeo, and gave the ball to him. Mahadeo said, "Why not keep her yourself?" "I cannot," said King Burtal, "for my hair is too short to tie her into; and I cannot hold her, for she is too strong for me; but your hair is long, and so you can hide her in it." Then Mahadeo had a round box made of bamboo, and in this box was a hole into which he dropped the ball. And he let down his long hair, and it reached to the ground, and was thick—so thick; he put the box in his hair on the top of his head, and rolled his long hair all round his head and over the box just like a turban.

Jamna finding her sister did not follow her, came up from the bottom of the river to look for her, and she asked whether any one had seen her, and at last some one said, "King Burtal has taken her away." Jamna set off to King Burtal and said, "Give me my sister Ganga, for our father is dying and wants to see her." "It is true that I took her away," said King Burtal, "but I have not got her now; she is with Mahadeo." So Jamna went to Mahadeo,—"Give me my sister quickly, for our father is dying and wants to see her." (Now Ganga was in a great passion inside her box.) "I cannot give you Ganga," said Mahadeo, "for she is so angry that if I let her loose she will flood the country with water." "No, she will not; indeed, she will not," said Jamna. "If I give her to you, you will not be able to keep her," said Mahadeo. "Yes, yes, I shall," said Jamna. "I do not think you will," said Mahadeo; "but here is the box in which said is. Hold it tight, and be careful that neither you nor any one else mentions her name on the journey." Jamna said she would be very careful, and took the box; but she had to pass through a jungle in which were a number of cowherds and holy men, one of whom was called Ganga. Just as Jamna passed by, one of these men called to this man by his name, Ganga, and instantly Ganga burst the box and flooded the country with water. The holy men and the cowherd called to her to have pity on them, and so did Jamna; but Ganga was too angry to listen to them or speak to them, so she drowned all the holy men and the cowherds, and when she got to her father's house and found he was dead, she was in such a rage that she declared she would send a still greater flood to ruin the country; and so she did.

After this, King Burtal went to Goraknath and stayed with him some years, till Goraknath said, "Now go to your own kingdom." But King Burtal refused, saying, "I wish to stay with you; my wives have never given me a child. I have no son. I do not care to return to my kingdom." However, Goraknath would not allow him to stay. "Go to your own kingdom," he said again; "but first tell me how many wives you have." "A hundred and sixty," answered the King. "Here are a hundred and sixty lichi fruits for you," said the fakir. "Give one to each of your wives to eat, and they will each have a son, and I will go with you." So King Burtal obeyed, and Goraknath went with him.

Seventy years had passed since King Burtal had left his kingdom. When he and Goraknath reached it, they went to an open plain and made a fire and sat down beside it. Everybody who passed them said, "Who are these fakirs?" Some servants of King Burtal's Ranis passed too, and when they got home they told the Ranis that their husband had returned to his kingdom. But the Ranis said, "What nonsense you talk! King Burtal went away with the fakir Goraknath." The servants answered, "We are quite sure that King Burtal is here, for Goraknath is here, and with him is another man, and we are sure this man is King Burtal." So all the Ranis went to see for themselves, and when they saw the fakir that was with Goraknath they knew he was their husband. Then the first Rani, who was very angry with him for having left them, said a spell over him: "God is very angry with you for leaving us, and he will send you a bad illness." But King Burtal answered, "Do not be angry with me. I am your husband, and have come back to you after an absence of seventy years." At this the youngest Rani was very glad, and she ordered drums to be beaten and she beat a drum herself, and they sang songs, and all went to the palace together, and Goraknath with them.

Then Goraknath said he must now go away, but first he asked King Burtal to show him a grand feat as a proof of his skill. So King Burtal sent to the smith for a great iron chain. Then he lit a big fire. This alarmed the palace servants, who wondered if he were going to burn his palace and his wives. King Burtal next sent for some ghee. "What is he going to do with the ghee?" said the palace servants. Then he drove a nail into the wall, rubbed his hands with the ghee, put the iron chain into the fire and drew it out red-hot; flames came from the iron. Then King Burtal hung it on the nail and pulled and pulled at the chain till he drew it off the nail, and his hands were not in the least burnt. The Ranis and palace servants were greatly astonished and Goraknath much pleased. "You know how to do your work well," said he to the king. Then Goraknath bade him good bye, telling him to look after his kingdom and his wives; but they all said he must not leave them, and they built him a grand house in the compound, and gave him a great many servants to wait on him, and plenty of money; so Goraknath agreed to live in this house; only, as he was a fakir, he often went away by himself to spend some time in his jungle, always returning to his house in King Burtal's compound. Meanwhile King Burtal gave each of his wives a lichi to eat, and after a little while each wife had a little son. They were all such beautiful children; but the biggest and handsomest of all was the eldest Rani's little son. His name was Sazada, and his father and mother loved him dearly.

When Prince Sazada was about six or seven years old, the fakir Goraknath came to King Burtal and said, "Now you must give me your son Sazada, for I want to take him away with me for some years." The Rani, his mother, refused to let him go, but at last she had to do so, and then she became mad and very sick for grief.

Goraknath took the little prince to Indrasan to be taught by the fairies, and on arriving he married him to Jahur Rani, who was the daughter of the greatest of the fairy queens. Goraknath made a grand wedding for the little prince, and all the fairies were delighted that he should be the little Jahur Rani's husband, for he was such a beautiful child they all fell in love with him the moment they saw him, and they taught him to play on all kinds of instruments, and to sing beautifully, and to read and write, and he grew handsomer and handsomer every day in the fairy kingdom. Goraknath came often to see him, and the fairies took great care of him.

When Prince Sazada had grown a fine strong young man, Goraknath took him and his wife, the Jahur Rani, and brought them in great state to King Burtal's kingdom. First he took the young prince and presented him to his father and said, "See, here is your son. Now he can read and write, sing and play on all kinds of instruments, for I have had him taught all these things." But they, when they saw him, fell on their faces, for they could not look at him on account of his great beauty. He had grown so handsome in Indrasan, and his cheeks were red. "How can this beautiful boy be our son?" they said, and they did not recognize him. "Stand up," said Goraknath. "This is your son Sazada; do not fall down before your son." So they stood up, and the fakir said, "I have married your son to the fairy princess Jahur Rani, and I will bring her to you." So then he brought the little Rani, and when they saw her they fell down again, for they could not look at her beauty. Her hair was like red gold, her eyes were dark, and her eyelashes black. But Goraknath made them stand up; and when they really understood it was their son and his wife that he had brought them, they took Prince Sazada into their arms, and kissed him and loved him, and his Rani too. Goraknath made a grand wedding-feast for them all, and they were all very happy.

Told by Dunkni.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Yamuna.

[4] Mahadeva, i.e. Siva.

[Decoration]



[Decoration]

XVI.

SOME OF THE DOINGS OF SHEKH FARID.

Once there was a Raja called Hamansa Raja. He had a son, named Gursan Raja, who married Khelapari Rani, the daughter of Gulabsa Raja. After the wedding Gursan Raja brought her home to his father's house.

One day Gursan Raja came home from hunting, very very tired and thirsty. It was about twelve or one o'clock in the day. He asked Khelapari Rani to fetch him some water, and while she went for it he fell asleep. When she came back she found him still sleeping, and because he was so tired he slept all the afternoon and all night, and never woke till the next morning. His wife stood by him all the time holding the water in a brass cup. When he woke and found she had stood there all the afternoon and all night he was very sorry, and asked God to forgive him, and to give his wife whatever she wished for, no matter what it might be. So Khelapari wished that whatever happened in any country, she might know of it at once of herself without any one telling her, no matter how far away the country might be.

One day Khelapari Rani went to draw water from the tank, and by the tank sat an old man, the fakir Shekh Farid. He said to the Rani, "Give me a little water to drink." "I will," she said, "only drink it quickly, for my father's house is on fire, and I am going to put it out." "How far off is your father's country?" asked Shekh Farid. "About twenty miles," answered Khelapari. "Then how can you know his house is on fire!" said Shekh Farid; "I have been a fakir for twelve years, and for twelve years neither ate nor drank, and yet I do not know what happens twenty miles away." "But I know," she answered. "Leave your water-jar here," he said, "and go and see if the house really is on fire, and I will not drink till you return to me."

So off went Khelapari Rani to her father's country, and when she got there his house was burning, and she stayed till the fire was put out, and then returned to the tank where she left the fakir. "Is it true," he asked, "that your father's house was on fire?" "Quite true," she answered. The fakir wondered. "How could she know it when the fire was twenty miles off?" he said to himself, and he determined to go to Gulabsa Raja's country to see if the Rani had told him the truth.

He went by a roundabout road, as he did not know the way, so it took him three or four days to get there. When he did, he asked some villagers if there had been a fire at their Raja's house. "Yes, a few days ago there was," they answered. So the fakir, still more astonished, decided he would go back to Hamansa Raja's palace and ask Khelapari Rani how it came to pass that she was wiser than Shekh Farid.

As he was returning, he met a bullock-cart laden with bags of sugar, and he asked the driver what the bags contained. The driver was put out because his bullocks would not go on quickly, and he was tired with beating and goading them, so he said crossly, "It's ashes." "Good," said Shekh Farid, "let it be ashes." When the cartman got to the bazar, and went to make over the sugar to the merchant who had sent him for it, he found all his bags full of ashes, nothing but ashes. He was in a great state of mind, for a good deal of money had been paid for the sugar, and he was a poor man. So he went back to Shekh Farid and fell down at his feet, saying, "I am a poor, poor man. My sugar is turned to ashes. Do make the ashes sugar again." "Good," said the fakir; "go home, and you will find sugar, and next time you are asked what you have in your cart, tell the truth and not lies." The cartman went home, and when he saw his sugar was sugar once more, and no longer ashes, he was very, very glad.

One of his brother-villagers thought, "How pleasant it would be to become a fakir and do such things myself! I will go to this fakir and learn from him to be a fakir too." So he went after Shekh Farid and found him walking along the road, and he followed him. Now Shekh Farid knew at once what this man wanted, so as they passed a heap of clay bricks, he said, "O God, let it be thy pleasure to give me power to turn these clay bricks into gold." Instantly they became gold, and Shekh Farid walked on; but the villager took up two of the bricks and put one under each arm, and then followed the fakir. Suddenly Shekh Farid turned round, and said to him, "You have two clay bricks under your arms." The man looked, saw it was true, and threw them away. Then Shekh Farid said to him, "You steal bricks, and yet wish to be a fakir?" The man was ashamed, and went back to his village.

Shekh Farid continued his journey and got to Hamansa Raja's country; but when he got there he found Khelapari had gone to another country for a little while, so he never saw her, nor found out how it was that she knew what happened twenty miles off.

In a jungle in Hamansa Raja's country he met a man, called Fakir-achand, and his wife, who were very poor. They were going to bury their only son, and were crying bitterly. Shekh Farid asked them, "Would you like your son to be alive again?" "Yes," they said. "Will you give him to me, and I will bring him to life, and then he shall return to you?" said Shekh Farid. "Yes," they answered, and gave him their dead son, and went to their home.

The fakir carried the dead boy, who was called Mohandas, a little further on, and then laid him on the ground, and struck him with a long thin bamboo wand he carried in his hand. The boy stood up. Shekh Farid asked him, "Would you like to go home to your father and mother, or to stay with me?" "To stay with you," said Mohandas. (Had he wished to go home, the fakir would have been very angry.) "Then," said Shekh Farid, "I will call your mother here." He did so, and when she came, he said to her, "See, here is your son alive. Will you give him to me for twelve years?" The woman said, "Yes," and went home. The fakir gave her and her husband a quantity of rupees and built them a beautiful house. Then he and Mohandas set out on their travels, and wandered about the jungles for one whole year, till they came to a country full of large splendid gardens belonging to a very rich Raja, called Dumkas Raja.

This Raja had a beautiful daughter, Champakali Rani. She had lovely golden hair, golden eyebrows, golden eyelashes, blue eyes, and her skin was transparent. In Dumkas Raja's country they had never seen a fakir, so when Shekh Farid and Mohandas arrived, the Raja sent to them, and asked Shekh Farid to come to talk to him. "No," said the fakir, "I will not go to the Raja: if the Raja wants me, he must come to me."

Dumkas Raja was very angry when his messengers returned with this answer, and he ordered Shekh Farid to leave his country immediately; but the fakir said he would not go until he had married his adopted son, Mohandas, to Champakali Rani. The people all laughed at him for saying this, and declared such a marriage would never take place. However, the fakir and Mohandas walked about and saw the town, and looked at everything, and everybody stared at them. Then they went to live on the border of Dumkas Raja's country, and lived there for some time.

One day Shekh Farid bought Mohandas a beautiful horse and fine clothes such as Rajas wear, and told the boy to ride about the fields and high roads. He also told him not to speak to any one unless they spoke to him. Mohandas promised to do as he was bid. As he was riding along, he met the Princess Champakali, who was also riding. She asked him who he was. "A Raja's son," he said. "What Raja?" asked Champakali. "Never mind what Raja," said Mohandas. The princess then went home, and so did Mohandas; but every day after this they met and talked together, and the princess fell very much in love with Mohandas.

At last she said to her father, "I wish to marry a young man who rides about on the border-land every day, and is very handsome." The Raja consented, for it was time his daughter was married, and now no Raja from another country would come to marry her, as the demons who guarded the princess swallowed all her suitors at one gulp, and had already swallowed many Rajas who had come on this errand.

Shekh Farid said to Mohandas, "Now go up to the palace, and claim the princess for your wife." "If I do," said Mohandas, "the demons will swallow me." "I will not let them swallow you," said Shekh Farid. So Mohandas consented and set off for the palace, Shekh Farid following him. When Mohandas came to the demons, they were going to swallow him; but the fakir, who had his sword in his hand, killed them all, and as he did so, the Rajas and princes who had come as suitors to the Princess Champakali, and had therefore been swallowed by the demons, all came jumping out of the demons' stomachs and ran off in all directions as hard as they could, from fear not knowing where they went.

Mohandas was greatly frightened at all this; but Shekh Farid explained everything to him, so he went on to the palace, and the fakir went too. There Mohandas asked Dumkas Raja to give him his daughter as his wife, and the Raja consented. So he was married to Champakali Rani, and her father gave them a great many elephants, and horses, and camels, and a great deal of money and many jewels. And Mohandas and his wife set off with the fakir to his father Fakir-achand's house, and they took all the elephants, camels, horses, money and jewels with them. On the way Mohandas told Champakali Rani that he was not a great Raja's son, but the son of poor people. Champakali's heart was very sad at this; however, she was not angry, only sorry.

When they reached Hamansa Raja's country, and had come to Fakir-achand's house, the fakir said to Mohandas's mother, "See, you lent me one child, and I have brought you back two children. Does this please you?" "Indeed it does please me," she answered; "I am very happy."

They built a beautiful palace and all lived in it together. The mother begged Shekh Farid to stay with them, saying, "Only stay with us; I will give you a bungalow, and you shall have everything you want." But Shekh Farid said, "I am a fakir, and so cannot stay with you, as I may never stay in one place, and must, instead, wander from country to country and from jungle to jungle." So he said good-bye to them and went on his wanderings, and never returned to them.

Mohandas, his wife, and his father and mother, all lived happily together.

Told by Dunkni.



[Decoration]

XVII.

THE MOUSE.

There was a mouse who wanted something to eat; so he went to a garden, where many kinds of grain, and fruit, and cabbages, and other vegetables were growing. All round the garden the people to whom it belonged had planted a hedge of thorns, that nothing might get in. The mouse scrambled through the hedge, but great thorns pierced his tail, and he began to cry. He came out of the garden again through the hedge, and on his way home he met a barber.

"You must take out these thorns," said he to the barber.

"I cannot," said the barber, "without cutting off your tail with my razor."

"Never mind cutting off my tail," said the mouse.

The barber cut off the mouse's tail. But the mouse was in a rage. He seized the razor and ran away with it. At this the poor barber was very unhappy and began to cry, for he had no pice wherewith to buy another.

The mouse ran on and on until at last he came to another country, in which there were no knives or sickles to cut the grass with. There the mouse saw a man pulling the grass out of the ground with his hands.

"You will cut your hands," said the mouse.

"There are no knives here," said the man, "so I must pull up the grass in this way."

"You must take my razor then," said the mouse.

"Suppose your razor should break? I could not buy you another," said the man.

"Never mind if it does break," said the mouse, "I give it to you as a present."

So the man took the razor and began cutting the grass, and as he was cutting, the razor broke.

"Oh, why have you broken my razor?" exclaimed the mouse.

"Did not I tell you it would break?" answered the man.

The mouse snatched up the man's blanket and ran off with it. The grass-cutter began to cry. "What shall I do?" said he. "The mouse has carried away my blanket, and I have not money wherewith to buy another." And he went home very sad.

Meanwhile the mouse ran on and on until he arrived at another country, where he saw a grain merchant chopping up sugar-canes; only as he had no blanket or cloth to lay the canes on, he chopped them up on the ground, and so they got dirty.

"Why do you chop up your canes on the ground?" said the mouse; "they all get dirty."

"What can I do?" answered the man. "I have no pice wherewith to buy a blanket to chop them on."

"Then why don't you take mine?" said the mouse.

"If I took yours it would get cut, and I have no money to buy you another," said the grain merchant.

"Never mind; I don't want another," said the mouse.

So the man took the blanket, and of course he cut it. When he had finished chopping up his sugar-canes, he gave it back to the mouse.

When the mouse saw the blanket was full of holes, he was very angry indeed with the man, and seizing all the sugar-canes he ran away with them as fast as he could. The grain merchant began to cry. "What shall I do?" said he; "I have no more sugar-canes." And he went home very sorrowful.

Then the mouse ran on and on till he came to another country, where he stopped at a sweetmeat-seller's shop. Now in this country there was no salt and no sugar. And the sweetmeat-seller made his sweetmeats of flour and ghee without either sugar or salt, so that they were very nasty.

"Will you give me some sweetmeats for a pice?" said the mouse to the sweetmeat-seller. "Yes," answered the man, and he gave one. The mouse began to eat it and thought it very nasty indeed.

"Why, there is no sugar in it!" exclaimed the mouse.

"No," said the man; "we have no sugar in this country. The few sugar-canes we have are so dear, that poor people like myself cannot buy them."

"Then take my sugar-canes," cried the mouse.

"No," said the man. "Where should I find the money to pay you for them? They would be all used in making sweetmeats."

"Take them," said the mouse; "I give them to you."

The sweetmeat-seller took them and began making sweetmeats of all kinds, so that he used all the sugar-canes.

"Why have you used all my sugar-canes?" cried the mouse.

"Did not I tell you I should do so?" said the man.

"You are a thief!" cried the mouse, and he knocked down the sweetmeat-seller, seized all his sweetmeats, and ran off with them.

"What shall I do now?" cried the sweetmeat-seller. "I have no money to buy flour and ghee to make more sweetmeats with; and if I quarrel with the mouse, he will doubtless kill me."

Meanwhile the mouse ran on and on till he reached a country, the Raja of which had a great many cows—hundreds of cows. The mouse stopped at the pasture-ground of these cows. Now, the cowherds were so poor they could not buy bread every day, and sometimes they ate bread which was twelve days old. When the mouse arrived, the cowherds were eating their bread, and it was very stale and mouldy.

"Why do you eat that stale bread?" said the mouse.

"Because we have no money to buy any other with," answered the cowherds.

"Look at all these sweetmeats," said the mouse. "Take them and eat them instead of that stale bread."

"But if we eat them, we must pay you for them, and where shall we get the money?" said the cowherds.

"Oh, never mind the money," said the mouse.

So the cowherds took the sweetmeats and ate them all up. At this the mouse was furious. He stuck a pole into the ground, and ran and fetched ropes, and tied the cowherds hand and foot to the pole. Then he took all the cows and ran off with them.

He ran on and on till he got to a country where there were no fowls, no cows, no buffaloes, no meat of any kind; and the people in it did not even know what milk and meat were. The day the mouse arrived was the day the Raja's daughter was to be married, and a great many people were assembled together. The Raja's cooks were cooking, but they had neither meat nor ghee.

"Why are all these people assembled together?" said the mouse.

"To-day is our Raja's daughter's wedding-day, and we are cooking the dinner," answered the cooks.

"But you have no meat," said the mouse.

"No," said the cooks. "There is no meat of any kind in our country."

"Take my cows," said the mouse.

"No," said the cooks; "our Raja could not pay for them; he is too poor." (He was only a petty Raja.)

"It does not matter," said the mouse. "I don't want money."

So the cooks took the cows and the sheep and killed them, and dressed their flesh in different ways; made pilaus and curries; they roasted some and boiled some, and gave it to the people to eat. In this way they made an end of all the cows.

"Why have you made an end of all my cows?" cried the mouse.

"Did not we tell you we should make use of them all?" said the cooks.

"Give me my cows," said the mouse.

"We can't. The people have eaten them all up," said the cooks.

The mouse was in a great rage. He ran off to the bridegroom, who was walking near the kitchen, saying to himself, "Now I will go and fetch my bride."

"Give me the money for my cows," cried the mouse to him. "Your people have eaten them all up, and your cooks won't pay me, so you must."

"What have I to do with your cows?" said the bridegroom. "I won't pay you for them."

"Then if you won't pay me, your wife's father must," said the mouse.

"Oh, he is too poor to pay for your cows," said the bridegroom, "and I won't."

"Then if I am not paid, I will take away your bride," said the mouse; and he ran off and carried away the bride.

The Raja was very angry at this; but the mouse ran on and on with his wife (so he called the Raja's daughter) till he came to another country.

Now, on the day he arrived in it there were going to be grand sights and fun to please its Raja. Some jugglers and rope-dancers were going to perform.

"Take my wife and let her walk on the rope; she is young, and your wives are old," said the mouse to the rope-dancers.

"No," they answered, "for she does not know how to walk on a rope and carry at the same time a wooden plate on her head. She would fall and break her neck."

"But you must take my wife," said the mouse. "She won't fall; she is young, and your wives are old. You really must take her."

So the rope-dancers took her, much against their will, and when she began to walk on the rope with the wooden plate on her head, she fell and died.

"Oh, why have you killed my wife?" cried the mouse.

"Did we not tell you she would fall and kill herself?" answered the rope-dancers.

The mouse seized all the jugglers' and rope-dancers' wives, and the things they used in dancing and juggling, and ran off with them. Then the rope-dancers and jugglers began to cry, and said, "What shall we do? Our wives and our property are all gone!"

Meanwhile the mouse ran on and on until he came to another country, where he got a house to live in. And he ate a great deal, and grew so fat that he could not get through the door of his house.

"Send for a carpenter," said he to the rope-dancers' and jugglers' wives, "and tell him to cut off some of my flesh. Then I shall be able to get into my house."

The women sent for a carpenter, and when he came the mouse said to him, "cut off some of my flesh, then I shall be able to go into my house."

"If I do," said the carpenter, "you will die."

"No, I shan't die," said the mouse. "Do as I bid you."

So the carpenter took his knife, and cut off some of the mouse's flesh.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried the mouse; "how it does hurt! What can I do to make it stop paining me?"

"You must go to a certain place, where a particular kind of grain grows, and rub the grain on your wounds. Then they will get quite well," said the carpenter.

So the mouse ran off to the place to which the carpenter had told him to go, and rubbed his wounds with the grain. This gave him such pain that he fell down and died.

The rope-dancers' and jugglers' wives went home to their husbands with all the things the mouse had carried away, and they all lived happily ever after.

Told by Karim.

[Decoration]



[Decoration]

XVIII.

A WONDERFUL STORY.

Once there lived two wrestlers, who were both very very strong. The stronger of the two had a daughter called Ajit; the other had no daughter at all. These wrestlers did not live in the same country, but their two villages were not far apart.

One day the wrestler that had no daughter heard of the wrestler that had a daughter, and he determined to go and find him and wrestle with him, to see who was the stronger. He went therefore to Ajit's father's country, and when he arrived at his house, he knocked at the door and said, "Is any one here?" Ajit answered, "Yes, I am here;" and she came out. "Where is the wrestler who lives in this house?" he asked. "My father," answered Ajit, "has taken three hundred carts to the jungle, and he is drawing them himself, as he could not get enough bullocks and horses to pull them along. He is gone to get wood." This astonished the wrestler very much. "Your father must indeed be very strong," he said.

Then he set off to the jungle, and in the jungle he found two dead elephants. He tied them to the two ends of a pole, took the pole on his shoulder, and returned to Ajit's house. There he knocked at the door, crying, "Is any one here?" "Yes, I am here," said Ajit. "Has your father come back?" asked the wrestler. "Not yet," said Ajit, who was busy sweeping the room. Now, her father had twelve elephants. Eleven were in the stables, but one was lying dead in the room Ajit was sweeping; and as she swept, she swept the dead elephant without any trouble out of the door. This frightened the wrestler. "What a strong girl this is!" he said to himself. When Ajit had swept all the dust out of the room, she came and gathered it and the dead elephant up, and threw dust and elephant away. The wrestler was more and more astonished.

He set off again to find Ajit's father, and met him pulling the three hundred carts along. At this he was still more alarmed, but he said to him, "Will you wrestle with me now?" "No," said Ajit's father, "I won't; for here there is no one to see us." The other again begged him to wrestle at once, and at that moment an old woman bent with age came by. She was carrying bread to her son, who had taken his mother's three or four thousand camels to browse.

The first wrestler called to her at once, "Come and see us wrestle." "No," said the old woman, "for I must take my son his dinner. He is very hungry." "No, no; you must stay and see us wrestle," cried both the wrestlers. "I cannot stay," she said; "but do one of you stand on one of my hands, and the other on the other, and then you can wrestle as we go along." "You carry us!" cried the men. "You are so old, you will never be able to carry us." "Indeed I shall," said the old woman. So they got up on her hands, and she rested her hands, with the wrestlers standing on them, on her shoulders; and her son's flour-cakes she put on her head. Thus they went on their way, and the men wrestled as they went.

Now the old woman had told her son that if he did not do his work well, she would bring men to kill him; so he was dreadfully frightened when he saw his mother coming with the wrestlers. "Here is my mother coming to kill me," he said: and he tied up the three or four thousand camels in his cloth, put them all on his head, and ran off with them as fast as he could. "Stop, stop!" cried his mother, when she saw him running away. But he only ran on still faster, and the old woman and the wrestlers ran after him.

Just then a kite was flying about, and the kite said to itself, "There must be some meat in that man's cloth," so it swept down and carried off the bundle of camels. The old woman's son at this sat down and cried.

The wrestlers soon came up to him and said, "What are you crying for?" "Oh," answered the boy, "my mother said that if I did not do my work, she would bring men to kill me. So, when I saw you coming with her, I tied all the camels up in my cloth, put them on my head, and ran off. A kite came down and carried them all away. That is why I am crying." The wrestlers were much astonished at the boy's strength and at the kite's strength, and they all three set off in the direction in which the kite had flown.

Meanwhile the kite had flown on and on till it had reached another country, and the daughter of the Raja of this country was sitting on the roof of the palace, combing her long black hair. The princess looked up at the kite and the bundle, and said, "There must be meat in that bundle." At that moment the kite let the bundle of camels fall, and it fell into the princess's eye, and went deep into it; but her eye was so large that it did not hurt her much. "Oh, mother! mother!" she cried, "something has fallen into my eye! come and take it out." Her mother rushed up, took the bundle of camels out of the princess's eye, and shoved the bundle into her pocket.

The wrestlers and the old woman's son now came up, having seen all that had happened. "Where is the bundle of camels?" said they, "and why do you cry?" they asked the princess. "Oh," said her mother, "she is crying because something fell into her eye." "It was the bundle of camels that fell into her eye, and the bundle is in your pocket," said the old woman's son to the Rani: and he put his hand into her pocket and pulled out the bundle. Then he and the wrestlers went back to Ajit's father's house, and on the way they met his old mother, who went with them.

They invited a great many people to dinner, and Ajit took a large quantity of flour and made it into flat cakes. Then she handed a cake to the wrestler who had come to see her father, and gave one to everybody else. "I can't eat such a big cake as this," said the wrestler. "Can't you?" said Ajit. "I can't indeed," he answered; "it is much too big." "Then I will eat it myself," said Ajit, and taking it and all the other cakes she popped them into her mouth together. "That is not half enough for me," she said. Then she offered him a can of water. "I cannot drink all that water," he said. "Can't you?" said Ajit; "I can drink much more than that." So she filled a large tub with water, lifted it to her mouth, and drank it all up at a draught.

The wrestler was very much astonished, and said to her, "Will you come to my house? I will give you a dinner." "You will never be able to give me enough to eat and drink," said Ajit. "Yes, I shall," he said. "You will not be able to give me enough, I am sure," said Ajit; "I cannot come." "Do come," he said. "Very well," she answered, "I will come; but I know you will never be able to give me enough food."

So they set off to his house. But when they had gone a little way, she said, "I must have my house with me." "I cannot carry your house," said the wrestler. "You must," said Ajit, "if you don't, I cannot go with you." "But I cannot carry your house," said the wrestler. "Well, then," said Ajit, "I will carry it myself." So she went back, dug up her house, and hoisted it on her head. This frightened the wrestler. "What a strong woman she must be!" he thought. "I will not wrestle with her father; for if I do, he will kill me."

Then they all went on till they came to his house. When they got to it, Ajit set her house down on the ground, and the wrestler went to get the dinner he had promised her. He brought quantities of things—all sorts of things—everything he could think of. Three kinds of flour, milk, dhall, rice, curries, and meat. Then he showed them all to Ajit. "That is not enough for my dinner," she said. "Why, that would be hardly enough for my mice!"

The wrestler wondered very much at this, and asked, "Are your mice so very big?" "Yes, they are very big," she answered; "come and see." So he took up all the food he had brought, and laid it on the floor of Ajit's house. Then at once all the mice came and ate it up every bit. The wrestler was greatly surprised; and Ajit said, "Did I not tell you true? and did I not tell you, you would never be able to get me enough to eat?" "Come to the Nabha Raja's country," said the wrestler. "There you will surely get enough to eat."

To this she agreed; so she, her father, and the wrestler went off to the Nabha Raja's country. "I have brought a very strong girl," said the wrestler to the Nabha Raja. "I will try her strength," said the Raja. "Give me three elephants," said Ajit, "and I will carry them for you." Then the Raja sent for three elephants, and said to her, "Now, carry these." "Give me a rope," said Ajit. So they gave her a rope, and she tied the three elephants together, and flung them over her shoulder. "Now, where shall I throw them?" she said to the astonished Raja. "Shall I throw them on to the roof of your palace? or on to the ground? or away out there?" "I don't know," said the Raja. "Throw them upon my roof." She threw the elephants up on to the roof with such force that it broke, and the elephants fell through into the palace.

"What have you done?" cried the Raja. "It is not my fault," answered Ajit. "You told me to throw the elephants on to your roof, and so I did." Then the Raja sent for a great many men and bullocks and horses to pull the elephants out of his palace. But they could not the first time they pulled; then they tried a second time and succeeded, and they threw the elephants away.

Then Ajit went home. "What shall I do with this dreadful woman?" said the Nabha Raja. "She is sure to kill me, and take all my country. I will try to kill her." So he got his sepoys and guns into order, and went out to kill Ajit. She was looking out of her window, and saw them coming. "Oh," she said, "here is the Nabha Raja coming to kill me." Then she went out of her house and asked him why he had come. "To kill you," said the Raja. "Is that what you want to do?" she said; and with one hand she took up the Raja, his guns, and his sepoys, and put them all under her arm: and she carried them all off to the Nabha Raja's country. There she put the Raja into prison, and made herself Rani of his kingdom. She was very much pleased at being Rani of the Nabha country; for it was a rich country, and there were quantities of fruits and of corn in it. And she lived happily for a long, long time.

Told by Karim, 13th January, 1877.

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XIX.

THE FAKIR NANAKSA SAVES THE MERCHANT'S LIFE.

In a country there was a grain merchant who was a very good man. Now a fakir named Nanaksa, who was also a very good man, came constantly to talk with him.

One day he came as usual, and the merchant and his wife were very glad to see him. As they were all sitting together, they saw a goat led away to be killed. The goat escaped from the man who was leading him and hid behind the merchant, but he was caught and marched off to death.

At this the merchant said nothing, but the fakir laughed.

A little later they saw an old woman who had done something wrong, and, therefore, the king had ordered her to be taken to the jungle and there put to death. The old woman escaped from the men who were leading her and took refuge behind the merchant, but she was seized and led away to die.

The merchant said nothing; the fakir laughed, and the merchant's wife saw him laugh.

At this moment the merchant's little daughter woke and began to scream. Her mother took her in her arms; the child was cross and pulled her mother's clothes all awry.

The fakir laughed.

The mother put her dress straight and held her child in her arms and stopped her crying. She then took a knife and went up to the fakir, saying, "Why did you laugh three times? Tell me the truth. What made you laugh three times?" Nanaksa answered, "What does it signify whether I cry or laugh? Ask me no questions, for I am a fakir, and it does not matter in the least whether I laugh or cry." However, the merchant's wife insisted on knowing why he laughed, and she said, "If you do not tell me, I will kill you with my knife." "Good," said Nanaksa; "if you really do wish to know, I will tell you." "I really do wish to know," she answered.

"Well," said Nanaksa, "you remember the goat took refuge behind your husband? That goat in his former life was your husband's father, and your husband would have saved him from death had he given the man who was taking him to be killed four rupees, for the man would then have gone away contentedly without the goat."

"Good," said the woman. "Why did you laugh the second time?"

"Well," said Nanaksa, "that old woman who hid herself behind your husband was his grandmother in her former life. Had your husband given the men who were taking her to the jungle twenty rupees, they would have given her up to him, and he would have saved her from death. Should a wild beast or a man ever take refuge behind us, it is our duty to save his life."

"Well," said the merchant's wife, "you have told me why you laughed the first two times. Now tell me why you laughed the third time."

"Listen," said Nanaksa. "You remember your husband's sister whom you tormented so much? She died, but then God caused her to be born again as your daughter, that she might torment you and punish you for having been so unkind to her in her former life when she was your sister-in-law."

"Is that true?" said the woman.

"Quite true," answered the fakir, "and that is why I laughed the third time. But now would you like to hear something I wish to tell you? If you promise not to cry, I will tell it you."

"I promise not to cry, so tell me," she said.

"Then listen," said Nanaksa. "God has decreed that your husband shall die to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. He will send four angels to fetch him."

At this the poor woman began to cry bitterly.

"Do not cry," said the fakir. "I will tell you something more. Listen to me. To-morrow morning at four o'clock you must get up, and make your house quite clean and neat. Then buy new dishes and make all the nicest and most delicious sweetmeats you can."

"I will do so," she answered.

When it was yet night she rose, and did all the fakir had bidden her. Then she went to him and said, "The sweetmeats are ready." "Now," said Nanaksa, "go and get a fine, clean cloth; take it and the sweetmeats with you, and set out and walk on and on till you come to a plain which is a long way from this. But you must go on till you reach it, and on it you will see a tank and a tree. By the tank and the tree you must spread your cloth and lay out your sweetmeats on it. At nine o'clock you will see four men, who will come and bathe in the tank. When they have bathed they will come towards you, and you must say to them, 'See! you are four angels, therefore you must eat some of my sweetmeats.'"

The woman set out for the plain and did all Nanaksa had told her to do; and everything happened as he had foretold. When the four men had bathed, they came towards the woman, and she said to them, "See! you are four angels, and therefore you must eat some of my sweetmeats." The chief of the four angels, who was called Jabra'il, and the three other angels answered, "We have no money, wherewith to buy your sweetmeats, so how can we eat any of them?" "Never mind the money," said the woman; "you can pay me another day. Come now and eat some." So the four angels sat down and ate a great many of her sweetmeats.

When they had finished they stood up and said to each other, "Now we must go to the village and fetch the merchant." Then the woman made them a great many salaams and said, "That merchant is my husband. Still, if it is your pleasure to take him away, take him away."

At this the angels were sad, and said to her, "How can we take your husband's life now that we have eaten your food? But stay under this tree till we return, and then we will pay you for your sweetmeats."

So the angels left her, and the wife waited under the tree. She was very sad; and after some time she thought, "Now I will go home: perhaps these angels are gone to take his life;" and then she cried bitterly and remained under the tree.

Meanwhile the four angels had gone back to God, who asked them, "Have you brought the merchant?" They were sorry not to have brought him, and told God all that had happened. And God was very angry; but he said to them. "Never mind. I know the fakir Nanaksa is with the merchant and his wife just now, and it is he who has played you this trick."

Then God wrote a letter in which he promised the merchant twenty years more life, only at the end of the twenty years he was really to die and not to be allowed to live any longer. This letter he gave to the angels, and bade them take it to the merchant's wife and tell her to have a silver box made, into which she was to put the letter, and then hang it round her husband's neck, so that he should live for twenty years more.

The four angels came down to earth again, and went to the tree under which they had left the woman. They found her waiting for them, and gave her the letter saying, "You must get a silver box made and put this letter in it; then hang it round your husband's neck, so that he may live for twenty years more."

The woman thanked them, and was very happy. She took the letter and went home. There she found her husband quite well, and with him was Nanaksa. She gave Nanaksa the letter and told him what the angels had bidden her do with it. Nanaksa read the letter, and was very much pleased. Then he said to her, "Call a silversmith here, and let him make you the silver box. Then you must get a great dinner ready, and ask all your friends, rich and poor, to come and eat it."

All this she did, and when the dinner was ready and all their friends had come, the fakir said, "None who are here, men, women, or children, must eat, till they have put their hands before their faces and worshipped God." Everybody hid his face in his hands at once and worshipped God: while they did this the fakir stole away from them, so when they uncovered their faces he was nowhere to be seen. No one knew where he had gone, and no one had seen him go. Some of the men went to look for him, but they could not find him, and none of them ever saw him again.

But the merchant and his wife lived happily together.

Told by Muniya.

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XX.

THE BOY WHO HAD A MOON ON HIS FOREHEAD AND A STAR ON HIS CHIN.

In a country were seven daughters of poor parents, who used to come daily to play under the shady trees in the King's garden with the gardener's daughter; and daily she used to say to them, "When I am married I shall have a son. Such a beautiful boy as he will be has never been seen. He will have a moon on his forehead, and a star on his chin." Then her playfellows used to laugh at her and mock her.

But one day the King heard her telling them about the beautiful boy she would have when she was married, and he said to himself he should like very much to have such a son; the more so that though he had already four wives he had no child. He went, therefore, to the gardener and told him he wished to marry his daughter. This delighted the gardener and his wife, who thought it would indeed be grand for their daughter to become a princess. So they said "Yes" to the King, and invited all their friends to the wedding. The King invited all his, and he gave the gardener as much money as he wanted. Then the wedding was held with great feasting and rejoicing.

A year later the day drew near on which the gardener's daughter was to have her son; and the King's four other wives came constantly to see her. One day they said to her, "The King hunts every day; and the time is soon coming when you will have your child. Suppose you fell ill whilst he was out hunting and could therefore know nothing of your illness, what would you do then?"

When the King came home that evening, the gardener's daughter said to him, "Every day you go out hunting. Should I ever be in trouble or sick while you are away, how could I send for you?" The King gave her a kettle-drum which he placed near the door for her, and he said to her, "Whenever you want me, beat this kettle-drum. No matter how far away I may be, I shall hear it, and will come at once to you."

Next morning, when the King had gone out to hunt, his four other wives came to see the gardener's daughter. She told them all about her kettle-drum. "Oh," they said, "do drum on it just to see if the King really will come to you." "No, I will not," she said; "for why should I call him from his hunting when I do not want him?" "Don't mind interrupting his hunting," they answered. "Do try if he really will come to you when you beat your kettle-drum." So at last, just to please them, she beat it, and the King stood before her.

"Why have you called me?" he said. "See, I have left my hunting to come to you." "I want nothing," she answered; "I only wished to know if you really would come to me when I beat my drum." "Very well," answered the King; "but do not call me again unless you really need me." Then he returned to his hunting.

The next day, when the King had gone out hunting as usual, the four wives again came to see the gardener's daughter. They begged and begged her to beat her drum once more, "just to see if the King will really come to see you this time." At first she refused, but at last she consented. So she beat her drum, and the King came to her. But when he found she was neither ill nor in trouble, he was angry, and said to her, "Twice I have left my hunting and lost my game to come to you when you did not need me. Now you may call me as much as you like, but I will not come to you," and then he went away in a rage.

The third day the gardener's daughter fell ill, and she beat and beat her kettle-drum; but the King never came. He heard her kettle-drum, but he thought, "She does not really want me; she is only trying to see if I will go to her."

Meanwhile the four other wives came to her, and they said, "Here it is the custom before a child is born to bind its mother's eyes with a handkerchief that she may not see it just at first. So let us bind your eyes." She answered, "Very well, bind my eyes." The four wives then tied a handkerchief over them.

Soon after, the gardener's daughter had a beautiful little son, with a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin; and before the poor mother had seen him, the four wicked wives took the boy to the nurse and said to her, "Now you must not let this child make the least sound for fear his mother should hear him; and in the night you must either kill him, or else take him away, so that his mother may never see him. If you obey our orders, we will give you a great many rupees." All this they did out of spite. The nurse took the little child and put him into a box, and the four wives went back to the gardener's daughter.

First they put a stone into her boy's little bed, and then they took the handkerchief off her eyes and showed it her, saying, "Look! this is your son!" The poor girl cried bitterly, and thought, "What will the King say when he finds no child?" But she could do nothing.

When the King came home, he was furious at hearing his youngest wife, the gardener's daughter, had given him a stone instead of the beautiful little son she had promised him. He made her one of the palace servants, and never spoke to her.

In the middle of the night the nurse took the box in which was the beautiful little prince, and went out to a broad plain in the jungle. There she dug a hole, made the fastenings of the box sure, and put the box into the hole, although the child in it was still alive. The King's dog, whose name was Shankar, had followed her to see what she did with the box. As soon as she had gone back to the four wives (who gave her a great many rupees), the dog went to the hole in which she had put the box, took the box out, and opened it. When he saw the beautiful little boy, he was very much delighted and said, "If it pleases God that this child should live, I will not hurt him; I will not eat him, but I will swallow him whole and hide him in my stomach." This he did.

After six months had passed, the dog went by night to the jungle, and thought, "I wonder whether the boy is alive or dead." Then he brought the child out of his stomach and rejoiced over his beauty. The boy was now six months old. When Shankar had caressed and loved him, he swallowed him again for another six months. At the end of that time he went once more by night to the broad jungle-plain. There he brought up the child out of his stomach (the child was now a year old), and caressed and petted him a great deal, and was made very happy by his great beauty.

But this time the dog's keeper had followed and watched the dog; and he saw all that Shankar did, and the beautiful little child, so he ran to the four wives and said to them, "Inside the King's dog there is a child! the loveliest child! He has a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin. Such a child has never been seen!" At this the four wives were very much frightened, and as soon as the King came home from hunting they said to him, "While you were away your dog came to our rooms, and tore our clothes and knocked about all our things. We are afraid he will kill us." "Do not be afraid," said the King. "Eat your dinner and be happy. I will have the dog shot to-morrow morning."

Then he ordered his servants to shoot the dog at dawn, but the dog heard him, and said to himself, "What shall I do? The King intends to kill me. I don't care about that, but what will become of the child if I am killed? He will die. But I will see if I cannot save him."

So when it was night, the dog ran to the King's cow, who was called Suri, and said to her, "Suri, I want to give you something, for the King has ordered me to be shot to-morrow. Will you take great care of whatever I give you?" "Let me see what it is," said Suri; "I will take care of it if I can." Then they both went together to the wide plain, and there the dog brought up the boy. Suri was enchanted with him. "I never saw such a beautiful child in this country," she said. "See, he has a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin. I will take the greatest care of him." So saying she swallowed the little prince. The dog made her a great many salaams, and said, "To-morrow I shall die;" and the cow then went back to her stable.

Next morning at dawn the dog was taken to the jungle and shot.

The child now lived in Suri's stomach; and when one whole year had passed, and he was two years old, the cow went out to the plain, and said to herself, "I do not know whether the child is alive or dead. But I have never hurt it, so I will see." Then she brought up the boy; and he played about, and Suri was delighted; she loved him and caressed him, and talked to him. Then she swallowed him, and returned to her stable.

At the end of another year she went again to the plain and brought up the child. He played and ran about for an hour to her great delight, and she talked to him and caressed him. His great beauty made her very happy. Then she swallowed him once more and returned to her stable. The child was now three years old.

But this time the cowherd had followed Suri, and had seen the wonderful child and all she did to it. So he ran and told the four wives, "The King's cow has a beautiful boy inside her. He has a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin. Such a child has never been seen before!"