FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[92]Merchant’s.[93]The Creator.[94]SeeNotesat the end.[95]Two provinces of the Madras Presidency, on the mainland opposite Ceylon. They are famous in Hindoo mythology.[96]SeeNotesat the end.[97]The Hindoo heaven.[98]He of the mango stone.[99]From the sweet mango pulp.[100]The Moon Lady.[101]SeeNotesat the end.[102]The Hindoo god Krishna, an incarnation of Vishnu.[103]SeeNotesat the end.[104]Or outcasts’; literally, “the extra-muralists’,”i.e., the houses of the lowest classes, not permitted to live within the city walls.[105]SeeNotesat the end.

[92]Merchant’s.

[93]The Creator.

[94]SeeNotesat the end.

[95]Two provinces of the Madras Presidency, on the mainland opposite Ceylon. They are famous in Hindoo mythology.

[96]SeeNotesat the end.

[97]The Hindoo heaven.

[98]He of the mango stone.

[99]From the sweet mango pulp.

[100]The Moon Lady.

[101]SeeNotesat the end.

[102]The Hindoo god Krishna, an incarnation of Vishnu.

[103]SeeNotesat the end.

[104]Or outcasts’; literally, “the extra-muralists’,”i.e., the houses of the lowest classes, not permitted to live within the city walls.

[105]SeeNotesat the end.

THERE was once upon a time a very rich man who had a very beautiful wife, and this man’s chief amusement used to be shooting with a bow and arrow, at which he was so clever that every morning he would shoot through one of the pearls in his wife’s nose-ring without hurting her at all.[106]One fine day, that was a holiday, the Pearl-shooter’s brother-in-law came to take his sister to their father and mother’s house to pay her own family a little visit; and when he saw her, he said, “Why do you look so pale and thin and miserable? is your husband unkind to you, or what is the matter?” “No,” she answered; “my husband is very kind to me, and I have plenty of money and jewels, and as nice a house as I could wish; my only grief is that every morning he amuses himself by shooting one of the pearls from my nose-ring, and that frightens me; for I think perhaps some day he may miss his aim and the arrow run into my face and kill me. So I am in constant terror of my life; yet I do not like to ask him not to do it, because it gives him so much pleasure; but if he left off of his own accord, I should be very glad.” “What does he say to you himself about it?” askedthe brother. “Every day,” she replied, “when he has shot the pearl, he comes to me quite happy and proud, and says, ‘Was there ever a man as clever as I am?’ and I answer him, ‘No, I do not think there ever was any as clever as you.’” “Do not say so again,” said the brother; “but next time he asks you the question, answer, ‘Yes, there are many men in the world more clever than you.’” The Pearl-shooter’s wife promised to take her brother’s advice. So, next time her husband shot the pearl from her nose-ring, and said to her, “Was there ever a man as clever as I am?” she answered, “Yes, there are many men in the world more clever than you.”

Then he said, “If so be that there are, I will not rest until I have found them.” And he left her, and went a far journey into the jungle in order to find, if possible, a cleverer man than himself. On, on, on he journeyed a very long way, until at last he came to a large river, and on the river-bank sat a traveler eating his dinner. The Pearl-shooter sat down beside him and the two began conversing together. At last, the Pearl-shooter said to his friend, “What is the reason of your journey, and where are you going?” The stranger answered, “I am a Wrestler, and the strongest man in all this country; I can do many wonderful things in the way of wrestling and carrying heavy weights, and I began to think that in all this world there was no one so clever as I; but I have lately heard of a still more wonderful man who lives in a distant country, and who is so clever that every morning he shoots one of the pearls from his wife’s nose-ring without hurting her. So I go to find him, and learn if this is true.”

The Pearl-shooter answered, “Then you need travel no further, for I am that man of whom you heard.” “Why are you traveling about, then, and where are you going?” asked the Wrestler. “I,” replied the other, “am also traveling to see if in all the world I can find a cleverer man than myself; therefore, as we have both the same object in view, let us be as brothers and go about together; perhaps there is still in the world a better man than we.” The Wrestler agreed; so they both started on their way together. They had not gone very far before they came to a place where three roads met, and there sat another man, whom neither of them had ever seen before. He accosted the Wrestler and the Pearl-shooter and said to them, “Who are you, friends, and where are you going?” “We,” answered they, “are two clever men, who are traveling through the world to see if we can find a cleverer man than we; but who may you be, and where are you going?” “I,” replied the third man, “am a Pundit,[107]a man of memory, renowned for my good head, a great thinker; and verily I thought there was not in the world a more wonderful man than I; but having heard of two men in distant lands of very great cleverness, the one of whom is a Wrestler, and the other a shooter of pearls from his wife’s nose-ring, I go to find them and learn if the things I heard are true.” “They are true,” said the others; “for we, O Pundit, are the very two men of whom you speak.”

At this news the Pundit was overjoyed, and cried, “Then let us be as brothers; since your homes are far distant, return with me to my house, which is close by; there you can rest a while, and each of us put ourvarious powers to the proof.” This proposal pleased the Wrestler and the Pearl-shooter, who accompanied the Pundit to his house.

Now, in the kitchen there was an enormous cauldron of iron, so heavy that five-and-twenty men could hardly move it; and in the dead of night the Wrestler, to prove his power, got up from the veranda where he was sleeping, and as quietly as possible lifted this great cauldron on his shoulders and carried it down to the river, where he waded with it into the deepest part of the water, and there buried it. After having accomplished this feat, he returned to the Pundit’s house as quietly as he had left it, and, rolling himself up in his blanket, fell fast asleep. But though he had come never so softly, the Pundit’s wife heard him, and waking her husband, she said, “I hear footsteps as of people creeping quietly about and not wishing to be heard, and but a little while ago I noticed the same thing; perhaps there are thieves in the house; let us go and see: it is strange they should choose such a bright moonlight night.” And they both got up quickly and walked round the house. They found nothing, however, out of order, nor any signs of anything having been touched or disarranged, until they came to the kitchen. And, indeed, at first they thought all was as they left it there, when, just as they were going away, the Pundit’s wife cried out to him, “Why, what has become of the great cauldron? I never thought of looking to see if that was safe; for it did not seem possible that it could have been moved.” And they both looked inside the house and outside, but the cauldron was nowhere to be seen. At last, however, they discovered deep footprints in the sand close to the kitchen door, as of some one who had been carrying avery heavy weight, and these they traced down to the river-side.

Then the Pundit said, “Some one immensely strong has evidently done this, for here are the footprints of one man only; and he must have buried the cauldron in the water, for, see, there is no continuation of the footprints on the other side. I wonder who can have done it? Let us go and see that our two guests are asleep; perhaps the Wrestler played us this trick to prove his great strength.” And with his wife he went into the veranda, where the Pearl-shooter and the Wrestler lay rolled up in their blankets, fast asleep. First, they looked at the Pearl-shooter; but on seeing him the Pundit shook his head, saying, “No, he certainly has not done this thing.” They then looked at the Wrestler, and the cunning Pundit licked the skin of the sleeping man, and, turning to his wife, whispered, “This is assuredly the man who stole the cauldron and put it in the river, for he must have been but lately up to his neck in fresh water, since there is no taste of salt on his skin from his foot even to his shoulders. To-morrow I will surprise him by showing him I know this.” And so saying, the Pundit crept back into the house, followed by his wife.

Next morning early, as soon as it was light, the Pearl-shooter and the Wrestler were accosted by their host, who said to them, “Let us go down to the river and have a wash, for I cannot offer you a bath, since the great cauldron, in which we generally bathe, has been mysteriously carried away this very night.” “Where can it have gone?” said the Wrestler. “Ah, where indeed?” answered the Pundit; and he led them down to where the cauldron had been put into the riverby the Wrestler the night before, and wading about in the water until he found it, pointed it out to him, saying, “See, friend, how far this cauldron traveled!” The Wrestler was much surprised to find that the Pundit knew where the cauldron was hidden, and said, “Who can have put it there?” “I will tell you,” answered the Pundit; “why, I think it was you!” And then he related how his wife had heard footsteps, and, being afraid of thieves, had awakened him the night before, and how they had discovered that the cauldron was missing, and traced it down to the river-side; and then how he had found out that the Wrestler had just before been into the water up to his neck. The Wrestler and the Pearl-shooter were both much astonished at the Pundit’s wisdom in having found this out; and the Pearl-shooter said to himself, “Both these men are certainly more clever than I.” Then the three clever men returned to the house, and were very happy and joyful, and amused themselves laughing and talking all the rest of the day; and when evening came, the Pundit said to the Wrestler, “Let us to-night forego all meagre fare and have a royal feast; friend Strongman, pray you go and catch the fattest of those goats that we see upon the hills yonder, and we will cook it for our dinner.” The Wrestler assented, and ran on and on until he reached the flock of goats browsing upon the hill-side. Now, just at that moment a wicked little Demon came by that way, and on seeing the Wrestler looking at the goats (to see which seemed the finest to take home to dinner), he thought to himself, “If I can make him choose me, and take me home with him for his dinner, I shall be able to play him and his friends some fine tricks.” So, quickas thought, he changed himself into a very handsome goat, and when the Wrestler saw this one goat, so much taller and finer and fatter than all the rest, he ran and caught hold of him and tucked him under his arm, to carry him home for dinner. The goat kicked and kicked and jumped about, and tried to butt more fiercely than the Wrestler had ever known any mortal goat do before, but still he held him tight and brought him in triumph to the Pundit’s door. The Pundit heard him coming and ran out to meet him; but when he saw the goat, he started back quite frightened, for the Wrestler was holding it so tight that its eyes were almost starting out of its head, and they were fiery and evil-looking and burning like two living coals, and the Pundit saw at once that it was a Demon, and no goat, that his friend held; then he thought quickly, “If I appear to be frightened, this cruel Demon will get into the house and devour us all; I must endeavor to intimidate him.” So, in a bold voice, he cried, “O Wrestler! Wrestler! foolish friend! what have you done? We asked you to fetch a fat goat for our dinner, and here you have only brought one wretched little Demon. If you could not find goats, while you were about it you might as well have brought more Demons, for we are hungry people. My children are each accustomed to eat one Demon a day, and my wife eats three, and I myself eat twelve, and here you have only brought one between us all! What are we to do?” At hearing these reproaches, the Wrestler was so much astonished that he dropped the Demon-goat, who, for his part, was so frightened at the Pundit’s words, that he came crawling along quite humbly upon his knees, saying, “Oh, sir, do not eat me, do not eat me, and Iwill give you anything you like in the world. Only let me go, and I will fetch you mountains of treasure, rubies and diamonds, and gold and precious stones beyond all count. Do not eat me; only let me go!” “No, no,” said the Pundit; “I know what you’ll do; you’ll just go away and never return: we are very hungry; we do not want gold and precious stones, but we want a good dinner; we must certainly eat you.” The Demon thought all that the Pundit said must be true, he spoke so fearlessly and naturally. So he only repeated more earnestly, “Only let me go; I promise you to return and bring you all the riches that you could desire.”

The Pundit was too wise to seem glad; but he said sternly, “Very well, you may go; but unless you return quickly and bring the treasure you promise, be you in the uttermost part of the earth, we will find you and eat you, for we are more powerful than you and all your fellows.”

The Demon, who had just experienced how much stronger the Wrestler was than ordinary men, and then heard from the Pundit’s own lips of his love for eating Demons, thought himself exceedingly lucky to have escaped their clutches so easily; and returning to his own land, he fetched from the Demons’ storehouse a vast amount of precious things, with which he was flying away with all speed (in order to pay his debt and avoid being afterward hunted and eaten), when several of his comrades caught hold of him, and in angry tones asked where he was carrying away so much of their treasure. The Demon answered, “I take it to save my life; for whilst wandering round the world I was caught by terrible creatures, more dreadful thanthe sons of men, and they threaten to eat me unless I bring the treasure.”

“We should like to see these dreadful creatures,” answered they, “for we never before heard of mortals who devoured Demons.” To which he replied, “These are not ordinary mortals; I tell you they are the fiercest creatures I ever saw, and would devour our Rajah, himself, did they get the chance; one of them said that he daily ate twelve Demons, that his wife ate three, and each of his children one.” At hearing this they consented to let him go for the time; but the Demon Rajah commanded him to return with all speed next day, that the matter might be further discussed in solemn council.

When, after three days’ absence, the Demon returned to the Pundit’s house with the treasure, the Pundit angrily said to him, “Why have you been so long away? You promised to return as soon as possible.” He answered, “All my fellow-Demons detained me, and would hardly let me go, they were so angry at my bringing you so much treasure; and though I told them how great and powerful you are, they would not believe me, but will, as soon as I return, judge me in solemn council for serving you.” “Where is your solemn council held?” asked the Pundit. “Oh, very far, far away,” answered the Demon, “in the depths of the jungle, where our Rajah daily holds his court.” “I and my friends should like to see that place, and your Rajah and all his court,” said the Pundit; “you must take us with you when you go, for we have absolute mastery over all Demons, even over their Rajah himself, and unless you do as we command we shall be very angry.” “Very well,” answered the Demon, forhe felt quite frightened at the Pundit’s fierce words; “mount on my back and I’ll take you there.” So the Pundit, the Wrestler and the Pearl-shooter all mounted the Demon, and he flew away with them, on, on, on, as fast as wings could cut the air, till they reached the great jungle where the durbar[108]was to be held, and there he placed them all on the top of a high tree just over the Demon Rajah’s throne. In a few minutes the Pearl-shooter, the Wrestler and the Pundit heard a rushing noise, and thousands and thousands of Demons filled the place, covering the ground as far as the eye could reach, and thronging chiefly round the Rajah’s throne; but they did not notice the men in the tree above them. Then the Rajah ordered that the Demon who had taken of their treasure to give to mortals should be brought to judgment; and when they had dragged the culprit into the midst of them, they accused him, and having proved him guilty, would have punished him; but he defended himself stoutly, saying, “Noble Rajah, those who forced me to fetch them treasure were no ordinary mortals, but great and terrible; they said they ate many Demons; the man ate twelve a day, his wife ate three, and each of his children one. He said, moreover, that he and his friends were more powerful than us all, and ruled your majesty as absolutely as we are ruled by you.” The Demon Rajah answered, “Let us see these great people of whom you speak, and we will believe you; but——” At this moment the tree upon which the Pundit, the Pearl-shooter and the Wrestler were, broke, and down they all tumbled—first, the Wrestler, then the Pearl-shooter, and lastly the Pundit—upon thehead of the Demon Rajah as he sat in judgment. They seemed to have come down from the sky, so suddenly did they appear, and, being very much alarmed at their awkward position determined to take the aggressive. So the Wrestler kicked and hugged and beat the Rajah with all his might and main, and the Pearl-shooter did likewise, while the Pundit, who was perched up a little higher than either of the others, cried, “So be it, so be it. We will eat him first for dinner, and afterward we will eat all the other Demons.” The Demons hearing this, one and all flew away from the confusion and left their Rajah to his fate; while he cried, “Oh spare me! spare me! I see it is all true; only let me go, and I will give you as much treasure as you like.” “No, no,” said the Pundit; “don’t listen to him, friends; we will eat him for dinner.” And the Wrestler and the Pearl-shooter kicked and beat him harder than before. Then the Demon cried again, “Let me go! let me go!” “No, no,” they answered; and they chastised him vigorously for the space of an hour, until, at last, fearing they should get tired, the Pundit said, “The treasure would be no use to us here in the jungle; but if you brought us a very great deal to our own house, we might give up eating you for dinner to-day; you must, however, give us great compensation, for we are all very hungry.” To this the Demon Rajah gladly agreed, and, calling together his scattered subjects, ordered them to take the three valiant men home again and convey the treasure to the Pundit’s house. The little Demons obeyed his orders with much fear and trembling, but they were very willing to do their best to get the Pundit, the Pearl-shooter and the Wrestler out of Demon-land,and they, for their parts, were no less anxious to go. When they got home, the Pundit said, “You shall not go until the engagement is fulfilled.” Instantly Demons without number filled the house with riches, and when they had accomplished their task, they all flew away, fearing greatly the terrible Pundit and his friends, who talked of eating Demons as men would eat almonds and raisins. So, by never showing that he was afraid, this brave Pundit saved his family from being eaten by these Demons, and also got a vast amount of treasure. Then he divided it into three equal portions: a third he gave to the Wrestler, a third he gave to the Pearl-shooter, and a third he kept himself; after which he sent his friends, with many kindly words, back to their own homes. So the Pearl-shooter returned to his house laden with gold and jewels of priceless worth; and when he got there, he called his wife and gave them to her, saying, “I have been a far journey and brought back all these treasures for you, and I have learnt that your words were true, since in the world there are cleverer men than I; for mine is a cleverness that profits not, and but for a Pundit and a Wrestler, I should not have gained these riches. I will shoot the pearl from your nose-ring no more.” And he never did.

FOOTNOTES:[106]SeeNotesat the end.[107]Wise man.[108]Council.

[106]SeeNotesat the end.

[107]Wise man.

[108]Council.

AHUNGRY JACKAL once went down to the river-side in search of little crabs, bits of fish and whatever else he could find for his dinner. Now it chanced that in this river there lived a great big Alligator, who, being also very hungry, would have been extremely glad to eat the Jackal.

The Jackal ran up and down, here and there, but for a long time could find nothing to eat. At last, close to where the Alligator was lying among some tall bulrushes under the clear, shallow water, he saw a little crab sidling along as fast as his legs could carry him. The Jackal was so hungry that when he saw this he poked his paw into the water to try and catch the crab, when snap! the old Alligator caught hold of him. “Oh dear!” thought the Jackal to himself, “what can I do? This great big Alligator has caught my paw in his mouth, and in another minute he will drag me down by it under the water and kill me. My only chance is to make him think he has made a mistake.” So he called out in a cheerful voice, “Clever Alligator, clever Alligator, to catch hold of a bulrush root instead of my paw! I hope you find it very tender.” The Alligator, who was so buried among the bulrushes that he could hardly see, thought, on hearing this, “Dear me, howtiresome! I fancied I had caught hold of the Jackal’s paw; but there he is, calling out in a cheerful voice. I suppose I must have seized a bulrush root instead, as he says;” and he let the Jackal go.

The Jackal ran away as fast as he could, crying, “O wise Alligator, wise Alligator! So you let me go again!” Then the Alligator was very much vexed, but the Jackal had run away too far to be caught. Next day the Jackal returned to the river-side to get his dinner, as before; but because he was very much afraid of the Alligator he called out, “Whenever I go to look for my dinner, I see the nice little crabs peeping up through the mud; then I catch them and eat them. I wish I could see one now.”

The Alligator, who was buried in the mud at the bottom of the river, heard every word. So he popped the little point of his snout above it, thinking, “If I do but just show the tip of my nose, the Jackal will take me for a crab and put in his paw to catch me, and as soon as ever he does I’ll gobble him up.”

But no sooner did the Jackal see the little tip of the Alligator’s nose than he called out, “Aha, my friend! there you are. No dinner for me in this part of the river, then, I think.” And so saying he ran farther on and fished for his dinner a long way from that place. The Alligator was very angry at missing his prey a second time, and determined not to let him escape again.

So on the following day, when his little tormentor returned to the water-side, the Alligator hid himself close to the bank, in order to catch him if he could. Now the Jackal was rather afraid going near the river, for he thought, “Perhaps this Alligator will catch meto-day.” But yet, being hungry, he did not wish to go without his dinner; so to make all as safe as he could, he cried, “Where are all the little crabs gone? There is not one here and I am so hungry; and generally, even when they are under water, one can see them going bubble, bubble, bubble, and all the little bubbles go pop! pop! pop!” On hearing this the Alligator, who was buried in the mud under the river-bank, thought, “I will pretend to be a little crab.” And he began to blow, “Puff, puff, puff! Bubble, bubble, bubble!” and all the great big bubbles rushed to the surface of the river and burst there, and the waters eddied round and round like a whirlpool; and there was such a commotion when the huge monster began to blow bubbles in this way that the Jackal saw very well who must be there, and he ran away as fast as he could, saying, “Thank you, kind Alligator, thank you; thank you! Indeed I would not have come here had I known you were so close.”

This enraged the Alligator extremely; it made him quite cross to think of being so often deceived by a little Jackal, and he said to himself, “I will be taken in no more. Next time I will be very cunning.” So for a long time he waited and waited for the Jackal to return to the river-side; but the Jackal did not come, for he had thought to himself, “If matters go on in this way, I shall some day be caught and eaten by the wicked old Alligator. I had better content myself with living on wild figs,” and he went no more near the river, but stayed in the jungles and ate wild figs, and roots which he dug up with his paws.

When the Alligator found this out, he determined to try and catch the Jackal on land; so, going under thelargest of wild fig trees, where the ground was covered with the fallen fruit, he collected a quantity of it together, and, burying himself under the great heap, waited for the Jackal to appear. But no sooner did the cunning little animal see this great heap of wild figs all collected together, than he thought, “That looks very like my friend the Alligator.” And to discover if it was so or not, he called out, “The juicy little wild figs I love to eat always tumble down from the tree, and roll here and there as the wind drives them; but this great heap of figs is quite still; these cannot be good figs; I will not eat any of them.” “Ho, ho!” thought the Alligator, “is that all? How suspicious this Jackal is! I will make the figs roll about a little then, and when he sees that he will doubtless come and eat them.”

So the great beast shook himself, and all the heap of little figs went roll, roll, roll—some a mile this way, some a mile that, farther than they had ever rolled before or than the most blustering wind could have driven them.

Seeing this, the Jackal scampered away, saying, “I am so much obliged to you, Alligator, for letting me know you are there, for indeed I should hardly have guessed it. You were so buried under that heap of figs.” The Alligator, hearing this, was so angry that he ran after the Jackal, but the latter ran very, very fast away, too quickly to be caught.

Then the Alligator said to himself, “I will not allow that little wretch to make fun of me another time and then run away out of reach; I will show him that I can be more cunning than he fancies.” And early the next morning he crawled as fast as he could to theJackal’s den (which was a hole in the side of a hill) and crept into it, and hid himself, waiting for the Jackal, who was out, to return home. But when the Jackal got near the place, he looked about him and thought, “Dear me! the ground looks as if some heavy creature had been walking over it, and here are great clods of earth knocked down from each side of the door of my den, as if a very big animal had been trying to squeeze himself through it. I certainly will not go inside until I know that all is safe there.” So he called out, “Little house, pretty house, my sweet little house, why do you not give an answer when I call? If I come, and all is safe and right, you always call out to me. Is anything wrong, that you do not speak?”

Then the Alligator, who was inside, thought, “If that is the case I had better call out, that he may fancy all is right in his house.” And in as gentle a voice as he could, he said, “Sweet little Jackal.”

At hearing these words the Jackal felt quite frightened, and thought to himself, “So the dreadful old Alligator is there. I must try to kill him if I can, for if I do not he will certainly catch and kill me some day.” He therefore answered, “Thank you, my dear little house. I like to hear your pretty voice. I am coming in in a minute, but first I must collect firewood to cook my dinner.” And he ran as fast as he could, and dragged all the dry branches and bits of stick he could find close up to the mouth of the den. Meantime, the Alligator inside kept as quiet as a mouse, but he could not help laughing a little to himself, as he thought, “So I have deceived this tiresome little Jackal at last. In a few minutes he will run in here, and then won’t I snap him up!” When the Jackal had gathered together allthe sticks he could find and put them round the mouth of his den, he set them on fire and pushed them as far into it as possible. There was such a quantity of them that they soon blazed up into a great fire, and the smoke and flames filled the den and smothered the wicked old Alligator and burnt him to death, while the little Jackal ran up and down outside, dancing for joy and singing—

“How do you like my house, my friend? Is it nice and warm? Ding-dong! ding-dong! The Alligator is dying! ding-dong, ding-dong! He will trouble me no more. I have defeated my enemy! Ring-a-ting! ding-a-ting! ding-ding-dong!”

THE battle of Kirkee was the turning-point in the last Mahratta war, which sealed the fate of the Peishwa’s dynasty and transferred the Deccan to British rule, and is naturally, in that part of India, still regarded, by all whose recollections go back to those days, as the one great event of modern history.

When the collector of these tales was in India, the house temporarily occupied by the Governor of Bombay overlooked the field of battle, and among those who came to see the Governor on business or pleasure were some—natives as well as Europeans—to whom the events of half a century ago were matters of living memory.

Old soldiers would tell how the fidelity of the native Sepoys resisted all the bribes and threats of Bajee Row Peishwa, the absolute Brahmin ruler of Poona, and thus, while the Peishwa hoped to effect his purpose by treachery, enabled Mr. Mountstuart Elphinstone to defer open hostilities—a matter of vital importance to the operations of Lord Hastings on the other side of India, in preparing for his great campaign against the Pindarees.

The veterans would recount all the romantic incidents of the struggle which followed—how the “old Toughs” (now H. M.’s 103d Regiment), the only European corps within reach, when at last slipped from the leash at Panwell, marched seventy-two miles straight up over the ghauts to Poona, with only a single three-hours’ halt en route; how they closed up their ranks of travel-soiled warriors and entered the British lines with band playing and colorsflying; and how not a straggler dropped behind, “for all knew that there must be a battle soon.” Their arrival was the signal for the Peishwa to throw off the mask, and, as the British Residency was untenable, the English troops moved out to take up a safer position at Kirkee, about three miles from the city of Poona; and as they marched they saw all the houses of the Resident and his suite fired by the enemy, who swarmed out of the city. As they formed in line of battle, they anxiously watched the native regiments coming up on their flank from Dapoorie, for that was the moment for successful treachery if the native soldiers were untrue! Not a Sepoy, however, in the British ranks wavered, though before the junction was complete a cloud of Mahratta cavalry poured down upon them, dashed through the opening left between the two lines, enveloped either flank of the little army, and attacked the European regiment in the rear. Then, as a last resource, the European regiment faced about their second rank, and kept up such a steady rolling fire to front and rear at the same time that but few of the eager horsemen ever came within spear’s length of the British bayonets.

One of the most touching recollections of those times attracted our notice almost the last day we spent at Kirkee. An old chief, Jadowrow of Malagaom, had come to take leave of the departing Governor. He was head of one of the oldest Mahratta families, for his ancestors were famous as a very ancient royal house before the Mohammedans invaded the Deccan. The old man had borne arms as a youthful commander of horse when the great Duke was at Poona in 1802, just before the battle of Assaye, had been greatly distinguished for his gallantry in the battle of Kirkee, so fatal to his race, and had followed the fortunes of the Peishwa to the last. Disdaining to make separate terms for himself with the English conqueror, he remained one of the few thoroughly faithful to his sovereign—not from love, for he loved not Bajee Row, but “because he had eaten his salt”—and only after the Peishwa’s surrender returned to his old castle near Poona. There for many years he lived, hunting and hawking over his diminished acres, and greatly respected as a model of a gallant and honorable old chief; but he could never be persuaded to revisit the capital of the Mahrattas after its occupation by the English. “He had no child,” he said, “and his race would die with him.” At last, as years rolled on, an only son was born to him; and then, touched by some unexpected act of liberality on the part of the British government which would secure his ancestral estate to thischild of his old age, he resolved to go to Poona, and visited the Governor, whose temporary residence happened to overlook the battle-field of Kirkee. He gazed long and wistfully from the drawing-room windows and said, “This place is much changed since I was here last, fifty years ago. It was here the battle was fought, and it was from near this very spot that we charged down that slope on the English line as it formed beyond that brook. I never thought to have seen this place again.”

Almost every hill, fort, and every large village round Poona, has some tradition, not only of the days of Alumgeer, Sivajee and of early Mahratta history, but of the campaigns of Wellesley in 1802 and of the last great struggle in 1817-18.

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Anna’sremarks on the contrast between the present dearth and the “good old times” of cheap bread, when the rupee went so much further than it does now, are very characteristic. The complaint, too, is very universal, and is to be heard in the household of public functionaries, the highest as well as the lowest, in every grade of native society, and more or less in all parts of India.

The Narrator’s notion, that “The English fixed the rupee at sixteen annas,” is another specimen of a very widespread Indian popular delusion. The rupee always consisted of sixteen annas, for the anna means only the sixteenth part of anything, but to the poor the great matter for consideration in all questions of currency is the quantity of small change they can get for the coin in which their wages are paid. Formerly this used to fluctuate with the price of copper, and the quantity of copper change which a silver rupee would fetch varied as copper was cheap or dear, and was always greatest when the copper currency was most debased. The English introduced all over India a uniform currency of copper as well as of silver, and none of course were greater gainers in the long run by this uniformity than the very poor.

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I amunable, at present, to give either the native words or music for this curious little Calicut song. The second part is probably of Portuguese origin, or it may have been derived from the Syrian Christians, who have been settled on that coast since the earliest ages.

The English translation of the words, as explained to me by Anna, is as follows:

(To be sung by one or more voices.)

1. Very far went the ship, in the dark, up and down, up and down. There was very little sky; the sailors couldn’t see anything; rain was coming.2. Now darkness, lightning and very little rain; but big flashes, two yards long, that looked as if they fell into the sea.3. On the third day the captain looks out for land, shading his eyes with his hand. There may be land. The sailors say to him, “What do you see?” He answers, “Far off is the jungle, and, swinging in a tree, is an old monkey, with two little monkeys in her arms. We must be nearing land.”4. Again the captain looks out; the sailors say to him, “What do you see?” He answers, “On the shore there walks a pretty little maiden, with a chattee on her head; she skips and runs, and dances as she goes. We must be nearing land.”5. The storm begins to rage again, and hides the land: at last it clears a little. The sailors say to the captain, “What do you see?” He answers, “I see a man ploughing; two bullocks draw the plough. We must be nearing land.”It is all true; they have gained the shore.

1. Very far went the ship, in the dark, up and down, up and down. There was very little sky; the sailors couldn’t see anything; rain was coming.

2. Now darkness, lightning and very little rain; but big flashes, two yards long, that looked as if they fell into the sea.

3. On the third day the captain looks out for land, shading his eyes with his hand. There may be land. The sailors say to him, “What do you see?” He answers, “Far off is the jungle, and, swinging in a tree, is an old monkey, with two little monkeys in her arms. We must be nearing land.”

4. Again the captain looks out; the sailors say to him, “What do you see?” He answers, “On the shore there walks a pretty little maiden, with a chattee on her head; she skips and runs, and dances as she goes. We must be nearing land.”

5. The storm begins to rage again, and hides the land: at last it clears a little. The sailors say to the captain, “What do you see?” He answers, “I see a man ploughing; two bullocks draw the plough. We must be nearing land.”

It is all true; they have gained the shore.

(To be sung by one or more voices.)

1. The ship’s on the sea—Which way is it coming?Right home to land.What cargo has it?The ship brings the sacrament and praying beads.2. The ship’s on the sea—Which way is it coming?Right home to land.What cargo has it?The ship brings white paper and the Twelve Apostles.3. The ship comes home to land—What cargo does it bring?Silver money, prophets and holy people.4. The ship comes home to land—What does it bring?All the saints and holy people, and Jesus Christ of Nazareth.5. The ship comes to our doors—Who brings it home?Our Saviour.Our Saviour bless the ship, and bring it safely home.

1. The ship’s on the sea—Which way is it coming?Right home to land.What cargo has it?The ship brings the sacrament and praying beads.

2. The ship’s on the sea—Which way is it coming?Right home to land.What cargo has it?The ship brings white paper and the Twelve Apostles.

3. The ship comes home to land—What cargo does it bring?Silver money, prophets and holy people.

4. The ship comes home to land—What does it bring?All the saints and holy people, and Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

5. The ship comes to our doors—Who brings it home?Our Saviour.Our Saviour bless the ship, and bring it safely home.

The second song, “The Little Wife Watching for her Husband’s Return,” Anna had almost entirely forgotten.

It was, she said, very pretty, being the song of the little wife as she decks herself in her jewels to please her husband when he comes home. She laments his absence, fears he has forgotten her and bemoans her loneliness.

M. F.

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Page27.—The Rajah’s seven daughters, taking it by turns to cook their father’s dinner, would be nothing unusual in the household of a Rajah. To a chief or great man in India, it is still the most natural precaution he can take against poison to eat nothing but what has been prepared by his wife or daughter, or under their eye in his own zenana; and there are few accomplishments on which an Indian princess prides herself more than on her skill in cookery.

Page107.—The little black and white owls, which fly out at dusk and sit always in pairs, chattering to each other in a singularly conversational version of owl language, are among the most widely-spread of Indian birds, and in every province where they are found are regarded as the most accomplished of soothsayers. Unlike other ominous creatures, they are anxious to do good to mankind, for they always tell each other what the traveler ought to do, and, if mankind were not so dull in understanding their language, would save the hearer from all risk of misfortune.

Page118.—The sangfroid with which the first Ranee, here and in the story of Panch-Phul Ranee, page 164, receives the second andmore favored wife to share her throne, however difficult to understand in the West, is very characteristic of Oriental life. In Indian households of the highest rank it would not be difficult to find examples of several wives living amicably together, as described in some of these stories; but the contrary result, as depicted in this story of Surya Bai and others, is far more common, for as a general rule human nature is too strong for custom, and under an external serenity bitter jealousies exist between the several wives of a royal Hindoo household, which are a constant source of misery and crime. Among the curious changes of opinion which are observable of late years in the Indian empire, none is more remarkable than the conviction, now frequently expressed by the warmest supporters of native governments at native courts, that the toleration of polygamy is one of their most serious dangers, the removal of which is of vital importance to the safety of any Indian dynasty, and indeed to the permanence of any Indian family of rank.

Page131.—The Dipmal, or Tower of Lights, is an essential feature in every large Hindoo temple. It is often of great height, and furnished with niches or brackets, each of which holds a lamp on festivals, especially on that of the Dewali, the feast of lamps celebrated in the autumn in honor of the Hindoo goddess Bowani or Kali, who was formerly propitiated on that occasion by human sacrifices.

Page132.—The story of Vicram’s act of devotion is thoroughly Hindoo. It is difficult to understand the universal prevalence and strength of the conviction among Hindoos that the particular god of their adoration can be prevailed on, by importunity or self-devotion, to reveal to his worshiper some act, generally ascetic or sacrificial, the performance of which will insure to the devotee the realization of the object of his wishes. The act of devotion and the object of the devotee are both often very trivial; but occasionally we are startled by hearing of some deed of horror, a human sacrifice or deliberate act of self-immolation, which is quite unaccountable to those who are not aware that it is only a somewhat extreme manifestationof a belief which still influences the daily conduct of the great majority of the Hindoos.

And even those who have known the Hindoos long and intimately frequently fail to recognize the extent to which this belief influences the ethics of common life and action in India. To quote an instance from well-known history, there are few acts regarding which a European traveler would expect the verdict of all mankind to be more generally condemnatory than the murder of Afzul Khan, the general of the Imperial Delhi army, by Sivajee, the founder of the Mahratta empire. Sivajee, according to the well-known story, had invited his victim to an amicable conference, and there stabbed him with a wag nuck[109]as they embraced at their first meeting. It was a deed of such deliberate and cruel treachery that it could find few defenders in Europe, even among the wildest advocates of political assassination. A European is consequently little prepared to find it regarded by Mahrattas generally as a most commendable act of devotion. The Hindoo conscience condemns murder and treachery as emphatically as the European; but this act, as viewed by the old-fashioned Mahratta, was a sacrifice prescribed by direct revelation of the terrible goddess Bowani to her faithful devotee. It was therefore highly meritorious, and the beautiful Genoese blade which Sivajee always wore, and with which his victim was finally despatched, was, down to our own days, provided with a little temple of its own in the palace of his descendants, and annually worshiped by them and their household—not as a mere act of veneration for their ancestor’s trusty sword, but because it was the chosen instrument of a great sacrifice, and “no doubt,” as the attendant who watched it used to say, “some of the spirit of Bowani,” whose name it bore, “must still reside in it.”

An attentive observer will notice in the daily life of those around him in India constant instances of this belief in the efficacy of acts of devotion and sacrifice to alter even the decrees of Fate. It is one of the many incentives to the long pilgrimages which form such a universal feature in Hindoo life, and the records of the courts of justice and the Indian newspapers constantly afford traces of its prevalencein cases of attempted suttee and other acts of self-immolation, or even of human sacrifice, such as are above alluded to. It must be remembered that Hindoo sacrifice has nothing but the name in common with the sacrifices which are a distinctive part of the religion of every Semitic race. Many a difficulty which besets the Hindoo inquirer after truth would be avoided if this essential distinction were always known or remembered.

Page136.—This belief in the omnipotence of “Muntrs,” or certain verbal formulas, properly pronounced by one to whom they have been authoritatively communicated, is closely allied to, and quite as universal as, the belief in the efficacy of sacrificial acts of devotion. In every nation throughout India, whatever may be the variations of creed or caste usage, it is a general article of belief, accepted by the vast majority of every class and caste of Hindoos, that there is a form of words (or Muntr) which, to be efficacious, can be only orally transmitted, but which, when so communicated by one of the “twice-born,” has absolutely unlimited power over all things visible or invisible, extending even to compelling the obedience of the gods and of Fate itself. Of course it is rather dangerous, even for the wisest, to meddle with such potent influences, and the attempt is usually confined to the affairs of common life; but of the absolute omnipotence of “Muntrs” few ordinary un-Europeanized Hindoos entertain any doubt, and there is hardly any part of their belief which exercises such an all-pervading and potent influence in their daily life, though that influence is often but little understood by Europeans.

The classical reader will remember many allusions to a similar belief as a part of the creeds imported from the East, which were fashionable under the Empire at Rome. There is much curious information on the subject of the earliest-known Hindoo Muntrs in theAitareya Brahmanaof the learned Dr. Haug, the only European who ever witnessed the whole process of a Hindoo sacrifice. The reader who is curious on such matters will do well to consult the recently-published work of Professor Max Müller, which might, without exaggeration, be described as a storehouse of new facts connected with the religion and literature of the East, rather than by its modest title ofChips from a German Workshop.

Page194.—I have not ventured to alter the traditional mode of the Moon’s conveyance of dinner to her mother the Star, though it must, I fear, seriously impair the value of the story as a moral lesson in the eyes of all instructors of youth.

M. F.

Page198.—This story is substantially the same as one well-known to readers of Pilpai’sFables. The chorus of the Jackals’ song of triumph is an imitation of their nocturnal howl.

Page203.—The touch of the poor outcast Mahars would be pollution to a Hindoo of any but the lowest caste; hence their ready obedience to the Jackal’s exhortation not to touch him.

The offerings of rice, flowers, a chicken, &c., and the pouring water over the idol, are parts of the regular daily observance in every village temple.

Page265.—The popular belief in stories of this kind, where the Cobra becomes the companion of human beings, is greatly strengthened by the instances which occasionally occur when particular persons, sometimes children or idiots, possess the power to handle the deadly reptiles without receiving any injury from them. How much is due merely to gentleness of touch and fearlessness, and how much to any personal peculiarity which pleases the senses of the snake, it is difficult to say, for the instances, though not few and perfectly wellauthenticated, are sufficiently rare to be popularly regarded as miraculous.

In one case, which occurred in the country west of Poona not long after our conquest of the Deccan, a Brahmin boy could, without the aid of music or anything but his own voice, attract to himself and handle with impunity all the snakes which might be within hearing in any thicket or dry stone wall, such as in that country is their favorite refuge. So great was the popular excitement regarding him, under the belief that he was an incarnation of some divinity, that the magistrate of Poona took note of his proceedings, and becoming uneasy as to the political turn the excitement regarding the boy might take, reported regularly to government the growth of the crowds who pressed to see the marvel and to offer gifts to the child and his parents! The poor boy, however, was at last bitten by one of the reptiles and died, and the wonder ceased.

Page274.—There are innumerable popular superstitions regarding the powers which can be conveyed in a charmed necklace; and it is a common belief that good and bad fortune, and life itself, can be made to depend on its not being removed from the wearer’s neck.

Page292.—The picture of the childless wife setting forth to seek Mahdeo, and resolving not to return till she has seen him, is one which would find a parallel in some of the persons composing almost every group of pilgrims who resort to the great shrines of Hindostan. Any one who has an opportunity of quietly questioning the members of such an assemblage will find that, besides the miscellaneous crowd of idlers, there are usually specimens of two classes of very earnest devotees. The one class is intent on the performance of some act of ascetic devotion, the object of which is to win the favor of the divinity, or to fulfill a vow for a favor already granted. The other class is seeking “to see the divinity,” and expecting the revelationunder one or other of the terrible forms of the Hindoo Pantheon. There are few things more pathetic than to hear one of this class recount the wanderings and sufferings of his past search, or the journeys he has before him, which are too often prolonged till death puts an end to the wanderer and his pilgrimage.

Page294.—The “fire which does not burn” is everywhere in India one of the attributes of Mahdeo.

In many parts of the Deccan are to be found shrines consecrated to one of the local gods, who has been Brahminically recognized as a local manifestation of Mahdeo, where the annual festival of the divinity was, within the last few years, kept by lighting huge fires, through which devotees ran or jumped, attributing their escape from burning to the interposition of Mahdeo. Except in a few remote villages, this custom, which sometimes led to serious accidents, has in British territory been stopped by the police.

Page298.—This story of the wonderful child who was found floating in a box on a river is to be heard, with more or less picturesque local variations, on the banks of every large river in India. Almost every old village in Sind has a local tradition of this kind.

Page305.—Most households in Calcutta can furnish recollections of depredations by birds, at their nest-building season, similar to that of the Ranee’s bangles by the Eagles in this story. But the object of the theft is generally more prosaic. I have known gold rings so taken, but the plunder is more frequently a lady’s cuff or collar, or a piece of lace; and the plunderers are crows, and sometimes, but very rarely, a kite.

Page313.—Purwaris, or outcasts, who are not suffered to live within the quarter inhabited by the higher castes, are very numerous in Southern India, and a legend similar to this one is a frequent popular explanation of their being in excess as compared with other classes of the population.

Page314.—Old residents at Surat may remember an ancient local celebrity named Tom the Barber, among whose recollections of former days was a chronicle of a renowned duelist, who used toamuse himself by shooting with his pistol, somewhat after the fashion of the Pearl-shooter. The little tin can of hot water which Tom carried, slung from his forefinger as he went his morning rounds, was a favorite mark. So were the water-jars on the heads of the women as they passed the duelist’s house coming from the well; and great was Tom’s relief when an old woman, who could not be pacified by the usual douceur for the loss of her jar and the shock of finding the water stream down her back, appealed to the authorities and had the duelist bound over to abstain in future from his dangerous amusement.

So vivid were Tom’s recollections of his own terrors that, after the lapse of half a century, he could ill conceal his sense of the poetical justice finally inflicted on his tormentor, who was killed in a duel to which he provoked a young officer who had never before fired a pistol.

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