THE TRIUMPH OF TRUTHA Hindu Story
There was once a Rajah who was both young and handsome, and yet he had never married. One time this Rajah, whose name was Chundun, found himself obliged to make a long journey. He took with him attendants and horsemen, and also his Wuzeer. This Wuzeer was a very wise man,—so wise that nothing was hid from him.
In a certain far-off part of the kingdom the Rajah saw a fine garden, and so beautiful was it that he stopped to admire it. He was surprised to see growing in the midst of it a small bingal tree that bore a number of fine bingals, but not a single leaf.
“This is a very curious thing, and I do not understand it,” said Chundun Rajah to hisWuzeer. “Why does this tree bear such fine and perfect fruit, and yet it has not a single leaf?”
“I could tell you the meaning,” said the Wuzeer, “but I fear that if I did you would not believe me and would have me punished for telling a lie.”
“That could never be,” answered the Rajah; “I know you to be a very truthful man and wise above all others. Whatever you tell me I shall believe.”
“Then this is the meaning of it,” said the Wuzeer. “The gardener who has charge of this garden has one daughter; her name is Guzra Bai, and she is very beautiful. If you will count the bingals you will find there are twenty-and-one. Whosoever marries the gardener’s daughter will have twenty and one children,—twenty boys and one girl.”
Chundun Rajah was very much surprised at what his Wuzeer said. “I should like to see this Guzra Bai,” said he.
“You can very easily see her,” answered the Wuzeer. “Early every morning she comes into the garden to play among the flowers. If youcome here early and hide you can see her without frightening her, as you would do if you went to her home.”
The Rajah was pleased with this suggestion, and early the next morning he came to the garden and hid himself behind a flowering bush. It was not long before he saw the girl playing about among the flowers, and she was so very beautiful the Rajah at once fell in love with her. He determined to make her his Ranee, but he did not speak to her or show himself to her then for fear of frightening her. He determined to go to the gardener’s house that evening and tell him he wished his daughter for a wife.
As he had determined, so he did. That very evening, accompanied only by his Wuzeer, he went to the gardener’s house and knocked upon the door.
“Who is there?” asked the gardener from within.
“It is I, the Rajah,” answered Chundun. “Open the door, for I wish to speak with you.”
The gardener laughed. “That is a likelystory,” said he. “Why should the Rajah come to my poor hut? No, no; you are some one who wishes to play a trick on me, but you shall not succeed. I will not let you in.”
“But it is indeed Chundun Rajah,” called the Wuzeer. “Open the door that he may speak with you.”
When the gardener heard the Wuzeer’s voice he came and opened the door a crack, but still he only half believed what was told him. What was his amazement to see that it was indeed the Rajah who stood there in all his magnificence with his Wuzeer beside him. The poor man was terrified, fearing Chundun would be angry, but the Rajah spoke to him graciously.
“Do not be afraid,” said he. “Call thy daughter that I may speak with her, for it is she whom I wish to see.”
The girl was hiding (for she was afraid) and would not come until her father took her hand and drew her forward.
When the Rajah saw her now, this second time, she seemed to him even more beautiful than at first. He was filled with joy and wonder.
“Now I will tell you why I have come here,” he said. “I wish to take Guzra Bai for my wife.”
At first the gardener would not believe him, but when he found the Rajah did indeed mean what he said he turned to his daughter. “If the girl is willing you shall have her,” said he, “but I will not force her to marry even a Rajah.”
The girl was still afraid, yet she could not but love the Rajah, so handsome was he, and so kind and gracious was his manner. She gave her consent, and the gardener was overjoyed at the honor that had come to him and his daughter.
Chundun and the beautiful Guzra Bai were married soon after in the gardener’s house, and then the Rajah and his new Ranee rode away together.
Now Chundun Rajah’s mother, the old Ranee, was of a very proud and jealous nature. When she found her son had married a common girl, the daughter of a gardener, and that Chundun thought of nothing but his bride andher beauty, she was very angry. She determined to rid herself of Guzra Bai in some way or other. But Chundun watched over his young Ranee so carefully that for a long time the old Queen could find no chance to harm her.
But after a while the Rajah found it was again necessary for him to go on a long journey. Just before he set out he gave Guzra Bai a little golden bell. “If any danger should threaten or harm befall you, ring this bell,” said he. “Wherever I am I shall hear it and be with you at once, even though I return from the farthest part of my kingdom.”
No sooner had he gone than Guzra Bai began to wonder whether indeed it were possible that he could hear the bell at any distance and return to her. She wondered and wondered until at last her curiosity grew so great that she could not forbear from ringing it.
No sooner had it sounded than the Rajah stood before her. “What has happened?” he asked. “Why did you call me?”
“Nothing has happened,” answered GuzraBai, “but it did not seem to me possible that you could really hear the bell so far away, and I could not forbear from trying it.”
“Very well,” said the Rajah. “Now you know that it is true, so do not call me again unless you have need of me.”
Again he went away, and Guzra Bai sat and thought and thought about the golden bell. At last she rang it again. At once the Rajah stood before her.
“Oh, my dear husband, please to forgive me,” cried Guzra Bai. “It seemed so wonderful I thought I must have dreamed that the bell could bring you back.”
“Guzra Bai, do not be so foolish,” said her husband. “I will forgive you this time, but do not call me again unless you have need of me.” And he went away.
Again and for the third time Guzra Bai rang the bell, and the Rajah appeared.
“Why do you call me again?” he asked. “Is it again for nothing, or has something happened to you?”
“Nothing has happened,” answered GuzraBai, “only somehow I felt so frightened that I wanted you near me.”
“Guzra Bai, I am away on affairs of state,” said the Rajah. “If you call me in this way when you have no need of me, I shall soon refuse to answer the bell. Remember this and do not call me again without reason.”
And for the third time the Rajah went away and left her.
Soon after this the young Ranee had twenty and one beautiful children, twenty sons and one daughter.
When the old Queen heard of this she was more jealous than ever. “When the Rajah returns and sees all these children,” she thought to herself, “he will be so delighted that he will love Guzra Bai more dearly than ever, and nothing I can do will ever separate them.” She then began to plan within herself as to how she could get rid of the children before the Rajah’s return.
She sent for the nurse who had charge of the babies, and who was as wicked as herself. “If you can rid me of these children, I will give youa lac of gold pieces,” she said. “Only it must be done in such a way that the Rajah will lay all the blame on Guzra Bai.”
“That can be done,” answered the nurse. “I will throw the children out on the ash heaps, where they will soon perish, and I will put stones in their places. Then when the Rajah returns we will tell him Guzra Bai is a wicked sorceress, who has changed her children into stones.”
The old Ranee was pleased with this plan and said that she herself would go with the nurse and see that it was carried out.
Guzra Bai looked from her window and saw the old Queen coming with the nurse, and at once she was afraid. She was sure they intended some harm to her or the children. She seized the golden bell and rang and rang it, but Chundun did not come. She had called him back so often for no reason at all that this time he did not believe she really needed him.
The nurse and the old Ranee carried away the children, as they had planned, and threwthem on the ash heaps and brought twenty-one large stones that they put in their places.
When Chundun Rajah returned from his journey the old Ranee met him, weeping and tearing her hair. “Alas! alas!” she cried. “Why did you marry a sorceress and bring such terrible misfortune upon us all!”
“What misfortune?” asked the Rajah. “What do you mean?”
His mother then told him that while he was away Guzra Bai had had twenty-one beautiful children, but she had turned them all into stones.
Chundun Rajah was thunderstruck. He called the wicked nurse and questioned her. She repeated what the old Ranee had already told him and also showed him the stones.
Then the Rajah believed them. He still loved Guzra Bai too much to put her to death, but he had her imprisoned in a high tower, and would not see her nor speak with her.
But meanwhile the little children who had been thrown out on the ash heap were being well taken care of. A large rat, of the kindcalled Bandicote, had heard them crying and had taken pity on them. She drew them down into her hole, which was close by and where they would be safe. She then called twenty of her friends together. She told them who the children were and where she had found them, and the twenty agreed to help her take care of the little ones. Each rat was to have the care of one of the little boys and to bring him suitable food, and the old Bandicote who had found them would care for the little girl.
This was done, and so well were the children fed that they grew rapidly. Before long they were large enough to leave the rat hole and go out to play among the ash heaps, but at night they always returned to the hole. The old Bandicote warned them that if they saw anyone coming they must at once hide in the hole, and under no circumstances must any one see them.
The little boys were always careful to do this, but the little girl was very curious. Now it so happened that one day the wicked nurse came past the ash heaps. The little boys saw her comingand ran back into the hole to hide. But the little girl lingered until the nurse was quite close to her before she ran away.
The nurse went to the old Ranee, and said, “Do you know, I believe those children are still alive? I believe they are living in a rat hole near the ash heap, for I saw a pretty little girl playing there among the ashes, and when I came close to her she ran down into the largest rat hole and hid.”
The Ranee was very much troubled when she heard this, for if it were true, as she thought it might be, she feared the Rajah would hear about it and inquire into the matter. “What shall I do?” she asked the nurse.
“Send out and have the ground dug over and filled in,” the nurse replied. “In this way, if any of the children are hidden there, they will be covered over and smothered, and you will also kill the rats that have been harboring them.”
The Ranee at once sent for workmen and bade them go out to the rat holes and dig and fill them in, and the children and the rats wouldcertainly have been smothered just as the nurse had planned, only luckily the old mother rat was hiding near by and overheard what was said. She at once hastened home and told her friends what was going to happen, and they all made their escape before the workmen arrived. She also took the children out of the hole and hid them under the steps that led down into an old unused well. There were twenty-one steps, and she hid one child under each step. She told them not to utter a sound whatever happened, and then she and her friends ran away and left them.
Presently the workmen came with their tools and began to fill in the rat holes. The little daughter of the head workman had come with him, and while he and his fellows were at work the little girl amused herself by running up and down the steps into the well. Every time she trod upon a step it pinched the child who lay under it. The little boys made no sound when they were pinched, but lay as still as stones, but every time the child trod on the step under which the Princess lay she sighed, and the thirdtime she felt the pinch she cried out, “Have pity on me and tread more lightly. I too am a little girl like you!”
The workman’s daughter was very much frightened when she heard the voice. She ran to her father and told him the steps had spoken to her.
The workman thought this a strange thing. He at once went to the old Ranee and told her he dared no longer work near the well, for he believed a witch or a demon lived there under the steps; and he repeated what his little daughter had told him.
The wicked nurse was with the Ranee when the workman came to her. As soon as he had gone, the nurse said: “I am sure some of those children must still be alive. They must have escaped from the rat holes and be hiding under the steps. If we send out there we will probably find them.”
The Ranee was frightened at the thought they might still be alive. She ordered some servants to come with her, and she and the nurse went out to look for the children.
But when the little girl had cried out the little boys were afraid some harm might follow, and prayed that they might be changed into trees, so that if any one came to search for them they might not find them.
Their prayers were answered. The twenty little boys were changed into twenty little banyan trees that stood in a circle, and the little girl was changed into a rose-bush that stood in the midst of the circle and was full of red and white roses.
The old Ranee and the nurse and the servants came to the well and searched under every step, but no one was there, so went away again.
All might now have been well, but the workman’s mischievous little daughter chanced to come by that way again. At once she espied the banyan trees and the rose-bush. “It is a curious thing that I never saw these trees before,” she thought. “I will gather a bunch of roses.”
She ran past the banyan trees without giving them a thought and began to break the flowers from the rose-tree. At once a shiver ran throughthe tree, and it cried to her in a pitiful voice: “Oh! oh! you are hurting me. Do not break my branches, I pray of you. I am a little girl, too, and can suffer just as you might.”
The child ran back to her father and caught him by the hand. “Oh, I am frightened!” she cried. “I went to gather some roses from the rose-tree, and it spoke to me;” and she told him what the rose-tree had said.
At once the workman went off and repeated to the Ranee what his little daughter had told him, and the Queen gave him a piece of gold and sent him away, bidding him keep what he had heard a secret.
Then she called the wicked nurse to her and repeated the workman’s story. “What had we better do now?” she asked.
“My advice is that you give orders to have all the trees cut down and burned,” said the nurse. “In this way you will rid yourself of the children altogether.”
This advice seemed good to the Ranee. She sent men and had the trees cut down and thrown in a heap to burn.
But heaven had pity on the children, and just as the men were about to set fire to the heap a heavy rain storm arose and put out the fire. Then the river rose over its banks, and swept the little trees down on its flood, far, far away to a jungle where no one lived. Here they were washed ashore and at once took on their real shapes again.
The children lived there in the jungle safely for twelve years, and the brothers grew up tall and straight and handsome, and the sister was like the new moon in her beauty, so slim and white and shining was she.
The brothers wove a hut of branches to shelter their sister, and every day ten of them went out hunting in the forest, and ten of them stayed at home to care for her. But one day it chanced they all wished to go hunting together, so they put their sister up in a high tree where she would be safe from the beasts of the forest, and then they went away and left her there alone.
The twenty brothers went on and on through the jungle, farther than they had ever gone before,and so came at last to an open space among the trees, and there was a hut.
“Who can be living here?” said one of the brothers.
“Let us knock and see,” cried another.
The Princes knocked at the door and immediately it was opened to them by a great, wicked-looking Rakshas. She had only one red eye in the middle of her forehead; her gray hair hung in a tangled mat over her shoulders, and she was dressed in dirty rags.
When the Rakshas saw the brothers she was filled with fury.
She considered all the jungle belonged to her, and she was not willing that any one else should come there. Her one eye flashed fire, and she seized a stick and began beating the Princes, and each one, as she struck him, was turned into a crow. She then drove them away and went back into her hut and closed the door.
The twenty crows flew back through the forest, cawing mournfully. When they came to the tree where their sister sat they gatheredabout her, trying to make her understand that they were her brothers.
At first the Princess was frightened by the crows, but when she saw there were tears in their eyes, and when she counted them and found there were exactly twenty, she guessed what had happened, and that some wicked enchantment had changed her brothers into this shape. Then she wept over them and smoothed their feathers tenderly.
After this the sister lived up in the tree, and the crows brought her food every day and rested around her in the branches at night, so that no harm should come to her.
Some time after this a young Rajah came into that very jungle to hunt. In some way he became separated from his attendants and wandered deeper and deeper into the forest, until at length he came to the tree where the Princess sat. He threw himself down beneath the tree to rest. Hearing a sound of wings above him the Rajah looked up and was amazed to see a beautiful girl sitting there among the branches with a flock of crows about her.
The Rajah climbed the tree and brought the girl down, while the crows circled about his head, cawing hoarsely.
“Tell me, beautiful one, who are you? And how come you here in the depths of the jungle?” asked the Rajah.
Weeping, the Princess told him all her story except that the crows were her brothers; she let him believe that her brothers had gone off hunting and had never returned.
“Do not weep any more,” said the Rajah. “You shall come home with me and be my Ranee, and I will have no other but you alone.”
When the Princess heard this she smiled, for the Rajah was very handsome, and already she loved him.
She was very glad to go with him and be his wife. “But my crows must go with me,” she said, “for they have fed me for many long days and have been my only companions.”
To this the Rajah willingly consented, and he took her home with him to the palace; and the crows circled about above them, following closely all the way.
The Rajah brought the girl down, while the crows circledabout his head.
The Rajah brought the girl down, while the crows circledabout his head.
When the old Rajah and Ranee (the young Rajah’s father and mother) saw what a very beautiful girl he had brought back with him from the jungle they gladly welcomed her as a daughter-in-law.
The young Ranee would have been very happy now in her new life, for she loved her husband dearly, but always the thought of her brothers was like a weight upon her heart. She had a number of trees planted outside her windows so that her brothers might rest there close to her. She cooked rice for them herself and fed them with her own hands, and often she sat under the trees and stroked them and talked to them while her tears fell upon their glossy feathers.
After a while the young Ranee had a son, and he was called Ramchundra. He grew up straight and tall, and he was the joy of his mother’s eyes.
One day, when he was fourteen years old, and big and strong for his age, he sat in the garden with his mother. The crows flew down about them, and she began to caress and talkto them as usual. “Ah, my dear ones!” she cried, “how sad is your fate! If I could but release you, how happy I should be.”
“Mother,” said the boy, “I can plainly see that these crows are not ordinary birds. Tell me whence come they, and why you weep over them and talk to them as you do?”
At first his mother would not tell him, but in the end she related to him the whole story of who she was, and how she and her brothers had come to the jungle and had lived there happily enough until they were changed into crows; and then of how the Rajah had found her and brought her home with him to the palace.
“I can easily see,” said Ramchundra, when she had ended the tale, “that my uncles must have met a Rakshas somewhere in the forest and have been enchanted. Tell me exactly where the tree was—the tree where you lived—and what kind it was?”
The Ranee told him.
“And in which direction did your brothers go when they left you?”
This also his mother told him. “Why doyou ask me these questions, my son?” she asked.
“I wish to know,” said Ramchundra, “for sometime I intend to set out and find that Rakshas and force her to free my uncles from her enchantment and change them back to their natural shapes again.”
His mother was terrified when she heard this, but she said very little to him, hoping he would soon forget about it and not enter into such a dangerous adventure.
Not long afterward Ramchundra went to his father and said, “Father, I am no longer a child; give me your permission to ride out into the world and see it for myself.”
The Rajah was willing for him to do this and asked what attendants his son would take with him.
“I wish for no attendants,” answered Ramchundra. “Give me only a horse, and a groom to take care of it.”
The Rajah gave his son the handsomest horse in his stables and also a well-mounted groom to ride with him. Ramchundra, however, onlyallowed the groom to go with him as far as the edge of the jungle, and then he sent him back home again with both the horses.
The Prince went on and on through the forest for a long distance until at last he came to a tree that he felt sure was the one his mother had told him of. From there he set forth in the same direction she told him his uncles had taken. He went on and on, ever deeper and deeper into the forest, until at last he came to a miserable looking hut. The door was open, and he looked in. There lay an ugly old hag fast asleep. She had only one eye in the middle of her forehead, and her gray hair was tangled and matted and fell over her face. The Prince entered in very softly, and sitting down beside her, he began to rub her head. He suspected that this was the Rakshas who had bewitched his uncles, and it was indeed she.
Presently the old woman awoke. “My pretty lad,” said she, “you have a kind heart. Stay with me here and help me, for I am very old and feeble, as you see, and I cannot very well look out for myself.”
This she said not because she really was old or feeble, but because she was lazy and wanted a servant to wait on her.
“Gladly will I stay,” answered the lad, “and what I can do to serve you, that I will do.”
So the Prince stayed there as the Rakshas’ servant. He served her hand and foot, and every day she made him sit down and rub her head.
One day, while he was rubbing her head and she was in a good humor he said to her, “Mother, why do you keep all those little jars of water standing along the wall? Let me throw out the water so that we may make some use of the jars.”
“Do not touch them,” cried the Rakshas. “That water is very powerful. One drop of it can break the strongest enchantment, and if any one has been bewitched, that water has power to bring him back to his own shape again.”
“And why do you keep that crooked stick behind the door? To-morrow I shall break it up to build a fire.”
“Do not touch it,” cried the hag. “I havebut to wave that stick, and I can conjure up a mountain, a forest, or a river just as I wish, and all in the twinkling of an eye.”
The Prince said nothing to that, but went on rubbing her head. Presently he began to talk again. “Your hair is in a dreadful tangle, mother,” he said. “Let me get a comb and comb it out.”
“Do not dare!” screamed the Rakshas. “One hair of my head has the power to set the whole jungle in flames.”
Ramchundra again was silent and went on rubbing her head, and after a while the old Rakshas fell asleep and snored till the hut shook with her snoring.
Then, very quietly, the Prince arose. He plucked a hair from the old hag’s head without awakening her, he took a flask of the magic water and the staff from behind the door, and set out as fast as he could go in the direction of the palace.
It was not long before he heard the Rakshas coming through the jungle after him, for she had awakened and found him gone.
Nearer and nearer she came, and then the Prince turned and waved the crooked stick. At once a river rolled between him and the Rakshas.
Without pause the Rakshas plunged into the river and struck out boldly, and soon she reached the other side.
On she came again close after Ramchundra. Again he turned and waved the staff. At once a thick screen of trees sprang up between him and the hag. The Rakshas brushed them aside this way and that as though they had been nothing but twigs.
On she came, and again the Prince waved the staff. A high mountain arose, but the Rakshas climbed it, and it did not take her long to do this.
Now she was so close that Ramchundra could hear her panting, but the edge of the jungle had been reached. He turned and cast the Rakshas’ hair behind him. Immediately the whole jungle burst into fire, and the Rakshas was burned up in the flames.
Soon after the Prince reached the palace andhastened out into the garden. There sat his mother weeping, with the crows gathered about her. When she saw Ramchundra she sprang to her feet with a scream of joy and ran to him and took him in her arms.
“My son! my son! I thought you had perished!” she cried. “Did you meet the Rakshas?”
“Not only did I meet her, but I have slain her and brought back with me that which will restore my uncles to their proper shapes,” answered the Prince.
He then dipped his fingers into the jar he carried and sprinkled the magic water over the crows. At once the enchantment was broken, and the twenty Princes stood there, tall and handsome, in their own proper shapes.
The Ranee made haste to lead them to her husband and told him the whole story. The Rajah could not wonder enough when he understood that the Princes were his wife’s brothers, and were the crows she had brought home with her.
He at once ordered a magnificent feast to beprepared and a day of rejoicing to be held throughout all the kingdom.
Many Rajahs from far and near were invited to the feast, and among those who came was the father of the Ranee and her brothers, but he never suspected, as he looked upon them, that they were his children.
Before they sat down to the feast the young Ranee said to him, “Where is your wife Guzra Bai? Why has she not come with you? We had expected to see her here?”
The Rajah was surprised that the young Ranee should know his wife’s name, but he made some excuse as to why Guzra Bai was not there.
Then the young Rajah said, “Send for her, I beg of you, for the feast cannot begin till she is here.”
The older Rajah was still more surprised at this. He could not think any one was really concerned about Guzra Bai, and he feared the young Rajah wished, for some reason, to quarrel with him. But he agreed to send for his wife, and messengers were at once dispatched to bring Guzra Bai to the palace.
No sooner had she come than the young Ranee began to weep, and she and the Princes gathered about their mother. Then they told the Rajah the whole story of how his mother and the nurse had sought to destroy Guzra Bai and her children, and how they had been saved, and had now come to safety and great honor.
The Rajah was overcome with joy when he found that Guzra Bai was innocent. He prayed her to forgive him, and this she did, and all was joy and happiness.
As for the old Ranee, she was shut up in the tower where Guzra Bai had lived for so many years, but the old nurse was killed as befitted such a wicked woman.
LIFE’S SECRETA Story of Bengal
In a far-off country there once lived a great Rajah who had two wives, one named Duo and the other Suo. Both these Ranees were beautiful, but Duo was of a harsh and cruel nature, while Suo was gentle and kind to all.
Though the Rajah had been married to his Ranees for some time they neither of them had any children, and this was a great grief to every one. Daily prayers were offered up in the temples for the birth of a son to the Rajah, but the prayers remained unanswered.
One day a beggar, a holy man who had vowed to live in poverty, came to the palace asking for alms. Duo would have had him driven away, but Suo felt compassion for him. She gave him the alms he asked and bade him sit in the cool of the courtyard to rest.
The beggar thanked her and ate the food she gave him. Just before he left, he asked to speak to her in private. This favor Suo granted him. She stepped aside with him, and as it so happened this brought them directly under the windows of Duo’s apartments.
“Great Ranee, you have been very kind to me,” said the beggar, “and I wish to reward you. I know that for years you have desired to have a son, but that this wish has not been granted. Now listen! In the midst of the jungle over beyond the city there grows the most wonderful tree in all the world. Its trunk is silver, and its leaves are of gold. Once in every hundred years this tree bears a single crimson fruit. She who eats this fruit, whosoever she may be, shall, within a year, bear a son. This is that hundredth year,—the year in which the tree bears fruit, and I have gathered that fruit and have it here.”
So saying, the beggar drew from among his rags a piece of silk embroidered with strange figures. This he unfolded, and showed to the Ranee, lying within it, a strange fruit such asshe had never seen before. It was pear shaped, and of such a vivid red that it seemed to pulse and glow with light.
Suo looked at it with wonder and awe.
“If you wish to have it, it is yours,” the beggar continued. “But I must tell you one other thing. Whoever eats this fruit shall indeed bear a son, but he will not be as other children. His life will not be altogether within himself as with other people; it will be bound up with an object quite outside of himself. If this object should fall into the hands of an enemy that enemy could, by willing it, bring upon him misfortune or even death, and this no matter how closely the child was watched and guarded. And now, knowing this, do you still wish to eat the fruit?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Suo.
“Then I will tell you what this object is and where it is to be found,” said the beggar. He drew still closer to the Ranee and whispered in her ear, but though what he told her was so important Suo paid but little attention to it; she thought only of the fruit,and the happiness that might come to her if she ate it.
Now all the while the beggar had been talking to Suo, Duo had been seated at her window just above them, and she overheard all that was said. Only when the beggar came closer to Suo and whispered in her ear Duo could not hear what he said, though she leaned out as far as she could and strained her ears to listen. So, though she had learned that if Suo had a child its life would depend on some object outside of itself, she did not learn what that object was.
The beggar now gave the fruit to Suo, and she took it and ate all of it. Not one seed or bit of rind did she miss. After that she went back to her own apartments to dream upon the joy that might be coming to her.
Within the year, even as the beggar had promised, Suo bore a child, and this child was so large and strong and handsome that he was the wonder of all who saw him.
The Rajah was wild with joy. He could scarcely think or talk of anything but his son, and he showered gifts and caresses upon thehappy mother. Duo was quite forgotten. He never even went near her apartments, and her heart was filled with jealousy and hatred toward Suo and the little prince Dalim Kumar,—for so the child was named. Nothing would have given her more joy than to be able to injure them and bring sorrow and misfortune upon them.
Now as Dalim Kumar grew older he became very fond of a flock of pigeons that his father had given him, and he spent a great deal of time playing with them in the courtyard. They were so tame they would come at his call and light upon his head and shoulders. Sometimes they flew in through the windows of Duo’s apartments which overlooked the courtyard. Duo scattered peas and grain on the floor for them, and they came and ate them. Then one day she caught two or three of them.
Soon after Dalim Kumar missed his pigeons and began calling them.
Duo leaned from her window. “Your pigeons are up here,” she cried. “If you want them you must come up and get them.”
Suo had forbidden her son to go to Duo’s apartments, but he quite forgot this in his eagerness to regain his pets, and he at once ran up to the Ranee’s apartments.
Duo took him by the wrist and drew him into her room. “You shall have your pigeons again,” said she, “but first there is something you must tell me.”
“What is it?” asked Dalim Kumar.
“I wish to know where your life lies and in what object it is bound up.”
Dalim Kumar was very much surprised. “I do not know what you mean,” said he. “My life lies within me, in my head and my body and my limbs, as it is with every one.”
“No, that is not so,” said Duo. “Has your mother never told you that your life is bound up in something outside of yourself?”
“No, she has never told me that, and moreover I do not believe it.”
“Nevertheless it is so,” said Duo. “If you will find out what this thing is and come and tell me you shall have your pigeons again, and if you do not do this I will wring their necks.”
Dalim Kumar was greatly troubled at the thought of harm coming to his pigeons. “No, no! You must not do that,” he cried. “I will go to my mother and find out what she knows, and if there is indeed truth in what you say I will come back at once and tell you the secret. But you must do nothing to my pigeons while I am gone.”
To this Duo agreed. “There is another thing you must promise,” said she. “You must not let your mother know I have asked you anything about your life. If you do I will wring your pigeons’ necks even though you tell me the secret.”
“I will not let her know,” promised the boy, and then he hastened away to his mother’s apartments. When he came to the door he began to walk slowly and with dragging steps. He entered in and threw himself down among some cushions and closed his eyes.
“What ails you, my son?” asked his mother. “Why do you sit there so quietly instead of playing about?”
“Nothing ails me now,” answered the boy,“but there is something that I wish to know, and unless you tell me I am sure I shall be quite ill.”
“What is it that you wish to know, my darling?”
“I wish to know where my life lies, and in what it is bound up,” answered the boy.
When Suo heard this she was very much frightened.
“What do you mean?” she cried. “Who has been talking to you of your life?”
Then Dalim said what was not true, for he feared that harm might come to his pigeons. “No one has been talking to me,” said he, “but I am sure that my life lies somewhere outside of me, and if you will not tell me about it I will neither eat nor drink, and then perhaps I may die.”
At last Suo could withstand him no longer. “My son,” she said, “it is as you have guessed. You are not as other children. Your life is bound up in some object outside of yourself, and if this object should fall into the hands of an enemy the greatest misfortunes might come upon you, and perhaps even death.”
“And what is this object?” asked the boy.
Again Suo hesitated. Then she said:
“The beggar told me that under the roots of that same tree that bore the fruit lies buried a golden necklace, and it is with that necklace that part of your life is bound up.”
Now that Dalim Kumar knew the secret he was content, and smiled upon his mother and caressed her, and ate some of the sweetmeats she had prepared for him. Then he ran away to get his pigeons.
Duo was waiting for him impatiently. “Have you found out the secret of your life?” she demanded.
“Yes,” answered the Prince. “It is bound up in a golden necklace that lies buried under the roots of a tree over in the jungle,—a tree with a silver trunk and golden leaves. And now give me my pigeons.”
Duo was very willing to do this; she had no longer any use for them. She placed the cage in which she had put them in his hands and pushed him impatiently from the room.
As soon as the boy had gone the Ranee sentfor a man upon whom she could depend and told him what she wished him to do. She wished him to go into the jungle and search until he found a tree with a silver trunk and golden leaves. He was then to dig down about its roots until he found a golden necklace that lay buried there. This necklace he was to bring to her, and in return for his services she would give him a lac of gold mohurs.
The man willingly agreed to do as she wished and at once set out into the jungle. After searching for some time he at last found the tree and began to dig about its roots.
Now at the very time this happened Dalim Kumar was with his mother playing about in her apartment. But no sooner did the man in the jungle begin to dig about the tree than the boy gave a cry and laid his hand upon his heart. At the same time he became very pale.
“What is the matter, my son?” cried his mother anxiously. “Are you ill?”
“I do not know what is the matter,” answered the Prince, “but something threatens me.”
His mother put her arm about him, and at the very moment she did so the man who had been digging found the necklace and picked it up, and at that the young Prince sank back senseless in his mother’s arms.
The Ranee was terrified. She sent at once for the Rajah, and physicians were called in, but none of them could arouse the child nor could they tell what ailed him. He lay there among the cushions where they had placed him still breathing, but unconscious of all around him.
And so the boy lay all the while that the man with the necklace hidden in his bosom was on his way back from the jungle. But when he reached the apartments of Duo and gave the necklace into the hands of the evil Ranee, the breath went out from the Prince’s body, and he became as one dead.
The Rajah was in despair. His grief was now as great as his joy had been when the child was born. He had a magnificent temple built in the most beautiful of all his gardens, and in this temple the body of Dalim Kumarwas laid. After this was done the Rajah commanded that the gates of the garden should be locked, and that no one but the gardeners should ever enter there on pain of death.
This command was carried out. The garden gates were kept locked, and no one entered but the men who went there in the daytime to prune the trees and water the flowers and keep the place in order. Not even Suo might go into the garden to mourn beside the body of her son.
But though every one believed Dalim Kumar to be dead, such was not really the case. All day, while Duo wore the necklace, he lay without breath or sign of life, but in the evening, when the Ranee took the necklace off, he revived and returned to life. And this happened every night, for every night the Rajah came to visit Duo, and just before he came she always took the necklace off and hid it. She feared if he saw it he might wonder and question her about it.
The wicked Ranee was now satisfied and happy. She believed she had destroyed theyoung Prince, and with him the Rajah’s love for Suo. For the Rajah now never went to Suo’s apartments. He neither saw her nor spoke of her, for she only reminded him of his grief for his son.
Now the first time that Dalim Kumar awoke in the temple he was very much surprised to find himself alone in a strange place, and with no attendants around him. He arose and went out into the garden, and then at once he knew where he was, though the temple was new to him. He went to one gate after another of the garden, intending to go and return to the palace, but he found them all locked. The gardeners had gone away for the night, and before going they had securely fastened the gates, according to the Rajah’s orders. The young prince called and called, but no one heard or answered. Feeling hungry, he plucked some fruit and ate it, and after that he amused himself as best he could, playing about among the trees and flowers.
Toward morning he felt sleepy and returned to the temple. He lay down upon the couch,and later on, when Duo again put on the necklace, his breath left him, and he became as one dead.
As it had been that night, so it was also in the many nights that followed. In the evening the Prince revived and came out to play among the flowers, but with the coming of day he returned to the temple and lay down on the couch, and all appearance of life left him. After a time he became used to the strange life he led, and no longer wondered why he was left there alone and why no one came to seek him.
So year after year slipped by, and from a child the Prince became a youth, and in all that time he had seen no one, for the gardeners had always gone away before he returned to life.
Now there lived at this time, in a country far away, a woman who had one only child, a daughter named Surai Bai. This girl was so beautiful that she was the wonder of all who saw her. Her hair was as black as night, her eyes like stars, her teeth like pearls, and her lips as red as ripe pomegranates.
When this child was born it was foretold toher mother that she would sometime marry a Prince who was both alive and dead. This prophecy frightened the mother so much that as soon as her daughter was of a marriageable age she left her own country and journeyed away into a far land, taking the girl with her. She hoped that if she went far enough she might escape the fate that had been foretold for the child.
Journeying on from one place to another, she came at last to the city where Dalim Kumar’s father reigned, and where the garden was, and the temple where the young prince lay.
It was toward evening when the mother and daughter reached the city, and it was necessary for them to find some shelter for the night. Surai Bai was weary, and her mother bade her sit down and rest by the gate of one of the palace gardens while she went farther to seek a lodging. As soon as she had found a place where they could stay she would return for the girl.
So Surai Bai seated herself beside the gate,and there her mother left her. But the mother had not been gone long when some noise farther up the street frightened the girl. She looked about for a place to hide, and it occurred to her that she might go into the garden and wait there. She tried the gate and found it unfastened, for by some chance one of the gardeners had forgotten to lock it that evening when he went away.
Surai Bai pushed the gate open and stepped inside, closing it behind her. When she looked about her, she was amazed at the beauty of the garden. The fruit trees were laden with fruits of every kind. There were winding paths and flowers and fountains, and in the midst of the garden was a temple shining with gold and wondrous colors.
Though daylight had faded the moon had arisen, and the garden was full of light. Surai Bai went over close to the temple, wishing to examine it, but just as she reached the foot of the steps that led up to it a young man appeared above her at the door of the temple. It was Dalim Kumar, who had aroused again to lifeand was coming forth to breathe the air of the garden.
When he saw Surai Bai he stood amazed, not only at her beauty, which was so great, but because hers was the first face he had ever seen in the years he had spent in the garden. As for Surai Bai, never before had she beheld a youth so handsome, or with such a noble air, and as the two stood looking at each other they became filled with love for one another.
Presently Dalim Kumar came down the steps of the temple and took Surai Bai’s hand.
“Who are you, beautiful one?” he asked. “Whence come you, and what is your name?”
“My name is Surai Bai,” answered the girl, “and I come from another country far away. My mother left me sitting by the gate while she went to find a lodging for us, but some noise frightened me, and I ran in here to hide.”
“That is a strange thing,” said the Prince. “In all the years I have been living here, the gates have never been unlocked before.”
“But do you live here alone?” asked the girl.
“Yes, all alone. Yours is the first face I have seen for years, and yet I am a Prince, and the son of a great Rajah.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I am here because my life was bound up in a golden necklace that lay buried under the roots of a tree in the jungle. I told the secret to a Ranee who was my enemy, though I did not know it at the time. She must in some way have gained possession of the necklace, and now she is using it for my harm. All day I lie there in the temple as though dead; no sound reaches me, nothing arouses me; only at night can I arise and come forth. I, a great prince, am as one both dead and alive.”
When Dalim Kumar pronounced these words Surai Bai could not refrain from giving a loud cry. She was overcome with amazement and confusion.
The Prince at once wished to know what had moved her so. “Why do you cry out and change color?” he asked. “And why do you tremble and look at me so strangely?”
At first Surai Bai would not tell him, but hewas so urgent in his questioning that finally she was obliged to recount to him the prophecy made at the time of her birth;—that it had been foretold of her that she was to marry a Prince who was both alive and dead.
Dalim Kumar listened to her attentively. “That is a strange thing,” said he. “I do not suppose in all the world there is another prince beside myself who is both alive and dead. If this saying is true, it must be that I am the one you are to marry. If so, I am very happy, for already I love you, and if you will stay here with me we will be married by the ceremony of Grandharva, and I will be a true and loving husband to you.”
To this Surai Bai willingly consented, for already she loved the prince so dearly that she felt she could not live without him. That very night she and the Prince presented each other with garlands of flowers, for that is the ceremony of Grandharva, and so they became man and wife.
After that they lived together in great happiness, and nothing could exceed their lovefor each other. By day, while Dalim Kumar lay lifeless in the temple, his bride slept also, and at evening they awoke and talked together and walked through the garden.
But after a while a son was born to the young couple, and after that Surai Bai was no longer gay and happy. Her look was sad, and often she stole away from Dalim Kumar to weep in secret.
The Prince was greatly troubled by this. At first he forbore to question her, but one day he followed her and finding her in tears, he said, “Tell me, why are you sad and downcast? Have you wearied of this garden, and are you lonely here; or is it that you no longer love me?”
“Dalim Kumar,” answered the girl, “I love you as dearly as ever, and I am never lonely with you. As long as we had no child I was content to stay here in the garden and see no one. But now that we have a son I wish him to be seen by your people, and I wish them to know that he is the heir to the kingdom.”
At this Dalim Kumar became very thoughtful.“My dear wife,” said he, “you are right. Our son should be known as my heir; but every one believes I died long ago when I was a child. If you went out among them with the boy and told them he was my son, they would laugh at you, and either think you were an impostor or that you were crazy. If we could but gain possession of the necklace, then I could go out from the garden with you, and if I showed myself to my people they would be obliged to believe.”
“That is what I have thought also,” said Surai Bai, “and it has been in my mind to ask you to give me permission to leave the garden for a while. If you will do this I will try to gain entrance to the palace and the apartments of Duo. Then possibly I can find where she keeps the necklace at night, and I may be able to get possession of it.”
Dalim Kumar eagerly agreed to this plan, and the very next day, while he lay unconscious in the temple, Surai Bai took the child and managed to steal out through one of the gates without being seen by any of the gardeners.
She at once sought out a shop in the city and bought for herself the dress of a hairdresser; then, leading the child by the hand she made her way to the palace. She told the attendants there that she was very skillful in dressing the hair, and if they would take her to the Ranees she was sure she could please them.
After some hesitation the attendants agreed to do this, and led the way first to the apartments of Suo. When Surai Bai entered the room and saw her husband’s mother sitting there thin and pale and grief-stricken, her heart yearned over her. But Suo would not so much as look at the pretended hairdresser. “Why do you bring her here?” she asked. “I have no wish to look beautiful. My son is dead and my husband no longer loves me nor comes to me. Take her away and leave me alone with my sorrow.”
The attendants motioned to Surai Bai to come away, and they led her across the palace to the apartments of Duo.
Here all was bright and joyous. The beautiful Duo lay among the cushions, smiling to herselfand playing with the necklace that hung about her neck. When she heard that the young woman they had brought to her was a skilled hairdresser, she sat up and beckoned Surai Bai to approach.
“Come!” said she. “Let us see how well you can dress my hair. The Rajah will be here before long, and I must be beautiful for him.”
Surai Bai at once came behind Duo and began to arrange her hair. The child meanwhile kept close by her side. When Surai Bai had almost finished she managed to loosen the clasp of the necklace so that it slipped from Duo’s neck and fell upon the floor.
This was as the pretended hairdresser had planned, and she had explained to her son beforehand that when the necklace fell he must pick it up and hold it tight, and yield it to no one. So now, no sooner did the necklace slip to the floor, than the child picked it up and twisted it tight around his fingers.
Duo was frightened. “Give me my necklace,” cried she, and reaching over she tried totake it from the boy, but at this he began to scream so loudly that it seemed as though the whole palace must be aroused by his cries.
Duo drew back alarmed and bade the child be quiet. Then she turned to the pretended hairdresser. “Make him give me the necklace again,” she demanded.
Surai Bai pretended to hesitate. “If I try to take it from him now,” she said, “he might break it. Have patience, and let him keep it for a while; he will soon tire of it. Then I can take it from him and bring it to you.”
To this Duo was obliged to agree. It was growing late and she feared at any moment now the Rajah might come in and that he might notice the necklace in the child’s hands and ask questions about it.
“Very well,” she said. “Let him keep it for the present, but bring it back to me the first thing in the morning. If you neglect to do this you shall be severely punished,—you and the child also.”
The pretended hairdresser made a deep obeisance, and then departed, carrying thechild who still held the necklace tightly clutched in his hands.
As soon as Surai Bai was outside of the palace she hastened away to the garden and found Dalim Kumar awaiting her at the gate.
“I know you have the necklace,” he cried to her, “for I aroused while it was still day, and with such a feeling of life and joy as I have never felt before.”
“Yes, it is here,” said Surai Bai, and she took the necklace from the child and held it out to him.
Dalim Kumar gave a cry of joy. His hands trembled with eagerness as he grasped the necklace. “Oh, my dear wife,” he cried, “you have saved me. I have now again become as other men and can claim what is my own. Come! Let us return to the palace and to my father and mother.”
So, with the child on his arm, and leading Surai Bai by the hand, the Prince hastened back to the palace. But when he entered the gates no one knew him, for when they had last seen him he had been only a boy. Theywondered to see a stranger enter in like a master, but his air was so noble, and his appearance so handsome that no one dared to stop him.
Dalim Kumar went at once to his mother’s apartments, and though no one else had known him, she recognized him at once, even though he had become a man. She knew not what miracle had brought him back, but she fell upon his neck and kissed him, and wept aloud, so that all in the palace heard the sound of her weeping.
The Rajah was sent for in haste, and when he came Dalim Kumar quickly made himself known to his father. The Rajah’s joy was no less than the Ranee’s over the return of his son.
Soon the news spread through all the palace, and there was great rejoicing. But Duo was filled with fear. She knew not what punishment would fall upon her for her evil doings, but she guessed the wrath of the Rajah would be great. So she fled away secretly and in haste, and for a long time she wandered about from place to place, miserable and afraid, and at last died in poverty as she deserved.
But Dalim Kumar and his young wife livedin happiness forever after, and when the old Rajah died Dalim Kumar became Rajah in his stead, and his own son ruled after him as Surai Bai and he had desired.