XXII.

XXII.Keep it for the Beggar.When anything sweet is prepared in the house on a particular night, and when the children, after feeding to their fill, say to the mother:—“Ammâ, this pudding is sweet; keep it for the morning,” the mother says at once:—“Ask me to keep it for the beggar, and I shall do it.”“Why should I not say keep it for the morning, Ammâ,” ask the curious children, and the South Indian mother gives to her listening children the following story:—In a certain village there lived an affectionate husband and wife. The husband would go to look after the fields and garden and return home with abundance of vegetables. The wife would cook and serve her lord to his fill. Before going out in the morning the husband used to take whatever of last night’s dishes were left cold to remain for his breakfast.The husband was a great eater ofdhâl1soup.Every night the wife used to prepare a large quantity of it and leave a good portion of it to stand for the morning’s breakfast of her lord. And he, too, owing to his taste for the cold rice, used to warn his wife—though she was very careful—and say:—“Keep me some of this soup for the next morning.”The wife used to say: “Yes, my dear husband, I shall do so.”This went on for several years. Every day thedhâlsoup was invariably prepared for the night meal and a good portion of it was reserved for the cold rice. Every night, the husband, without forgetting for even a single day, used to ask his wife to reserve a portion. Thus passed on several years, as we have already said.One night this husband had his supper. The wife had sat at her husband’s leaf to take her supper after her lord had had his. That night, too, our hero, as usual, repeated:—“Keep, my dear, some of this soup for the morning.”At once a gurgling laughter was heard near the doorsill of their house. The pair were astonished, and searched their whole house. No one was discovered. Again the husband said:—“Keep, my dear, some of this soup for the morning.”Again the laughter was heard. Finding that the laughter immediately followed his order, the husband repeated it a third time. A third time also the laughter broke out. They were astonished. Three times had laughter been heard in their house, and still they could see no one. Thinking that some one must have mocked him from the neighbouring houses, he made careful inquiries and satisfied himself that none of his neighbours had mocked him. He was afraid at the laughter which thrice proceeded from a part of his house, as he had heard it distinctly.That very night our hero had a sudden and unforeseen calamity, and just as he was dragging the latch of his backyard door a serpent stung him in his finger. Neighbours hearing of the venomous reptile in their next house, ran there with a stout cudgel. Already the master of the house, who was passionately fond of thedhâlsoup, had swooned away. His wife was mourning by his side, saying:—“My dear husband. How did you forget your soup so soon and leave us all for the other world? Just now you gave me the order, and before tasting it even you have died.”The neighbours began to search for the snake; but they did not succeed. And again a voice exclaimed from vacuum:—“This husband’s fate ended at the twelfthghaṭikâof this night. Yama ordered me to go and fetch him to his world. I came down and reached this house at the eighthghaṭikâwhen the husband was giving the order to reserve for the morning meal his deardhâlsoup. I could not contain my laughter, and so broke out with a gurgling noise. As I am divine no one could perceive me. And so none ever found me in this house after they heard the laughter. Then I transformed myself into a serpent and waited for the hour to do my death-dealing duty. The poor man is now no more. Fourghaṭikâsago he was of opinion that he would live and eat his cold rice to-morrow morning. How very sanguine people are in this world of uncertainty. The cause for my laughter was the husband’s certainty when he issued that order to reserve thedhâlsoup for the breakfast.”Thus ended the messenger, and vanished of course to inform his master how he had executed his orders.And from that day, my children, it was fixed that our life in this world is always uncertain, and that one who lives at this moment cannot be sure of doing so at the next moment. While such is the case, how can you say, “Keep the pudding for to-morrow morning.” Since you saw in the story just related to you, that we can never be certain of our life, you must say, instead of “for to-morrow morning, for the beggar.” If we keep it for the beggar,and if we fortunately live till to-morrow morning, we shall use a portion of it and give the remainder to the beggar. Hence you must always, hereafter, say when any supper from overnight is to be left for the morning, “Keep it for the beggar, Ammâ.”“Yes, mother. We shall do so hereafter,” replied the children.In India, amongBrâhmiṇs, the wife must never take her food before her lord, unless she is pregnant or sick. In these two cases even on the days when it is possible to avoid the meal before her lord, the wifeinvariablydoes it; on other days she cannot probably help it when she is physically unable. And in taking her meal, the wife sits in front of the leaf (dish) from which her husband has eaten. Most husbands generally leave their leaves clean, some out of pure affection to their wives and out of a good intention of not injuring the feelings of their wives. But there are others, who, as they are unclean in their other habits, are also unclean in their eating. The appearance of their leaves after they have left off eating, is like those thrown out in the streets and mutilated by crows and dogs. But their wives, cursing their lot to have married such husbands, must, as long as they are orthodox, eat out of those leaves.1A yellow grain, peculiar to India.XXIII.Good Luck to the Lucky One; Or, Shall I Fall Down?In a certain town there lived a wealthyBrâhmiṇ. He wished to build a house—pretty large and spacious—as became his riches. For that purpose he called in a great number of soothsayers, and fixed, guided by their scientific opinion, a place for building the mansion. A certain portion of every day is supposed to be bad for doing work. This portion is sometimes called theRâhu-kâḷa—the evil time of the demonrâhuand sometimestyâjya—the time to be avoided. And abandoning carefully all these evil hours the wealthyBrâhmiṇbuilt his mansion in ten years. The first entrance into a new house to dwell is performed always with a great deal of pomp and ceremony, even by the poor according to their means. And our wealthyBrâhmiṇto please the gods of the other world and the gods of this world—bhûsurasBrâhmiṇs—spent a great deal of his wealth, andwithveorasand music sounding all around him he entered into his house.The whole of the day almost was spent in ceremonies and festivities. All the guests left the place at evening, and much exhausted by the exertions of the day theBrâhmiṇhouse-owner retired to rest. Before sleep could close his eyelids he heard a fearful voice over his head exclaiming:—“Shall I fall down? Shall I fall down?”Great was the concern of the landlord at hearing this voice. He thought that some demon had taken possession of his house, and that he was going to pull down the roof of his house over his own head. That very night with as much haste as he entered the new house, he vacated it and went back to his old house.Sirukakhaṭti perukavâḷkais the Tamil proverb. The meaning of it is “build small and live great,”i.e., build small houses without laying out much capital uselessly in houses and live prosperously; and in villages many a rich landlord would prefer small houses to big ones. The idea that he had spent a great deal of money to build a big house troubled our hero. The spaciousness of the house was one reason for the devil to come in so easily, as he thought. When he vacated his house on the very night of the day he entered it people began to talk all sorts of scandals about it. The ladies in thebathing places (ghaṭs) in rivers began to give all sorts of colour to the devils in that house. One said that when she was coming to the river she saw a company of devils dancing round and round the middle pillar of the upper storey of that unfortunate house. Another said that she observed unearthly lights in that mansion the previous night. Thus people talked and talked, furnishing new colours and new adventures out of their pure imagination for a phenomena which they never saw. And our unfortunate rich man had to lock up his house which he built after so many days, and at the expense of so much money. Thus passed six months.In that town there lived a poor beggarBrâhmiṇ. He was in extreme poverty, and spent a great portion of the day in begging from house to house his meal and clothes. He had, poor man, seven children. With this large family he was constantly in the greatest misery. He had not a proper house to live in. A miserable hut was all his wealth in that village. Winter was approaching, and the roof of their only hut began to fall down. The increasing miseries made the poorBrâhmiṇresolve upon suicide. He could not bring himself to do that by his own hand. He had heard of the haunted house, and resolved to go there with all his family and perish by the hands of the devils. This was his secret intention, but he never spoke of itto any one. One day he came to the richBrâhmiṇwho was the owner of the haunted mansion, and spoke to him thus:—“My noble lord! The winter is approaching and the roof of my hut has fallen away. If you would kindly allow it I shall pass the rainy days in your big house.”When the rich man heard this he was very glad to see that one person at least there was in his little world who wanted the use of his house. So, without hesitating any longer, he replied:—“My most holy sir, you can have the free use of that whole house for whatever time you may want it. It is enough if you light a lamp there and live happily. I built it, and I am not destined to live there. You can go and try your fortune there.”So said the rich landlord, and gave the key of that haunted house to the poorBrâhmiṇ. The latter took it, and with his family went and lived there from that day. That very night he also heard the same voice: “Shall I fall down?” “Shall I fall down?” twice. Nothing daunted, and quite resolved to perish with his wife and children, who were sound asleep near him, he exclaimed, “Fall down,” and lo! a golden river ofmohursandpagodasbegan to fall down in the middle of the room from the top of the roof. It began falling and falling without any stopping till the poorBrâhmiṇ, who sat agapewith wonder, began to fear that they would all be buried inmohurs. The moment he saw the sea of wealth before him, his idea of suicide abandoned him. “Stop please,” said he at once, and themohur-fall came to a sudden stop. He was delighted at the good nature of the devil, or whatever good spirit might have taken possession of the house, for its having given him so much wealth. He heaped up all themohursin one room, and locked it up, and had the key of it in his own possession. His wife and children got up during themohur-fall. They also were informed of everything. The poorBrâhmiṇadvised his wife and children to keep the matter secret, and they, to their great credit, did so. They all—the poor parents and children—rejoiced at the good fortune that had made its visit to them.As soon as morning dawned the poorBrâhmiṇconverted little by little hismohursinto money and bought grains and clothes for his family. This he did day by day till rumour began to spread that the poorBrâhmiṇhad found a treasure-trove in the rich landlord’s house. Of course this rumour reached the ears of the wealthy man also. He came to the poorBrâhmiṇand asked him all about the treasure-trove. The latter to his great honour related to the landlord every bit of themohur-fall. He also wished to witness it and sleep in the room with the poorBrâhmiṇ, for the first time in his life,his thirst formohursinducing him to do so. At about midnight “Shall I fall down?” was again heard.“Fall down” said the poorBrâhmiṇ, and lo! themohursbegan to descend like a water-fall. But, horror of horrors, they all appeared as so many scorpions to the house-owner. The poor man was heaping up the gold coins, but all of them seemed to crawl as so many scorpions to the eyes of the landlord.“Stop please,” said the poor man, and themohur-fall stopped.Then turning to the house-owner, the poor man said: “My lord, you may take home this heap for your use.”The house-owner began to weep and said: “Most fortunate of mankind, I have heard my old father often repeat a proverb, ‘To the fortunate fortune comes,’ and its meaning I have discovered to-day only. I built the house and ran away when I heard the ‘shall I fall.’ No doubt I did very well, for had I remained a scorpion torrent would have sent me to the other world. Know then my most fortunate friend, that I see all yourmohursas so many scorpions. I have not the fortune to see them asmohurs. But you have that gift. So from this moment this house is yours. Whatever you can convert into money of yourmohursI shall receive and bless you.”So saying the house-owner came out of the room fearing the scorpions. And our poor man thus had all the fortune to himself, and was no longer a poor man. He soon became one of the wealthiest of men of his time, but remembering that he owed all his riches to thewealthy landlordwho gave him the house, he used to share with the latter half of his wealth every year.This story explains the Tamil proverbMadrishṭam uḷḷavanukku kiḍaikkum; to the fortunate good fortune.N.B.—This story was also related to me by my step-mother whose birth-place is a village in the Trichinopoly district.N. S.XXIV.Retaliation—Palikkuppali.There is a proverb inTamil̤calledPalikkuppali vâṅgukiraduwhich would best be translated by the expression “tit for tat,” and the following story I heard when a boy from my step-mother, illustrating that proverb, and I have of late found the same story also in the Trichinopoly districts.In a certain village there lived a poor Śûdra. He had made a vow to the goddess of his village, that if he came out successfully in a certain undertaking he would offer her a couple of goats. And he succeeded in his undertaking, and thought that his goddess alone had granted his request. Great was his joy and greater became his faith in her extraordinary powers. And as he promised he brought two fat goats and sacrificed them to her.These goats thus sacrificed and the Śûdra sacrificer who meanwhile had died by a sudden fever, after a short time were all re-born in the world to undergo the results of their goodness or sin. The two goats, because they were sacrificed to thegoddess, were re-born as the king and the minister of a large country. The Śûdra, as he had as much faith in his former life as in his goddess, was reborn in the priest’s (gurukkula) caste, of course neither the king and his minister nor the priest had any reason to know their former life, until the death of the latter approached, as we shall presently see. A large kingdom fell to the share of the king, and he with his minister reigned over it most peacefully. In an unfrequented wilderness was a famous temple of a powerful goddess of of that country, and in that pagoda the priest regularly conducted her worship.Thus passed several years, the king and minister happy in their own kingdom, and the priest executing his religious duties in the wilderness. The priest was leading a most calm and holy life, eating what grew in the wilderness. His life was as pure as pure can be.But for all that fate would not forgive him for his acts in his former life.The king and the minister had vowed to the goddess of the wilderness that if they returned successfully from the conquest of an enemy of theirs they would offer her some human sacrifice. And so they returned, and to make entire their vow to the goddess they left their kingdom like ordinary men and came to the wood. All along the way they searchedfor a person to sacrifice, but no one—fortunately for him—was to be found. They still thought that the vow must not be left unaccomplished, and resolved upon catching the priest of the temple and offering him up as their intended sacrifice. When such strong people like the king and his minister resolved to do so, what could the poor priest do? He was quite unable to escape when those two informed him of what they were going to do with him on his entering to worship the goddess. Said the priest:—“Sirs! You have come here resolved upon offering me up as a sacrifice to the goddess. I cannot hereafter escape your hold. But if you would allow me to perform mypûjâto the goddess this morning also, I shall gladly die after having done my duty.”So said the priest, and the king and the minister watched at the entrance and let him in.The priest went into theGarbhagṛiha—the holy of the holies in the temple, and performed his worship to the goddess. After that was over he gave the image a severe blow on its back and thus addressed it:—“Most merciless goddess. What have you done for all my faith in you. In this lonely wilderness, without knowing any other duty than your worship, I had been your true servant for the past many years. And in reward for all that, I must fall now aprey to the sacrifice of the king and the minister who are sharpening their knives outside to cut off my head at this moment. Is this the result of all mypûjâ(worship) to you.”So spake the priest, and the goddess, laughing, thus replied from the vacuum:—“My true priest. Your acts in your former life must trouble you in this. And the charitable acts of this life, even, cannot protect you in your next birth. In your former birth you had murdered two goats. They were born as king and minister, and have dragged you here to murder you. But this—the murder you are to undergo soon, by these hands will relieve you only of one of the two murders of your former life. And for the other murder you and they would be re-born again, and again they would kill you. So in your next third life from this one you would enjoy the fruits of all this devotion. Since now you know the story of your former life, you will forgive me, I think.”Thus spoke the goddess, and the priest, as the knowledge of his former life dawned upon him, by the grace of the goddess, seemed resolved to die, in order to pay for his former sin. But the idea that in the next life he was to undergo the same punishment, vexed him much, and falling down at the goddess’s feet, he respectfully requested her to try her best to let him off the next life; and thegoddess’s heart was also moved at the severity of fate which would make her devotee pass through one more life in misery before he enjoyed the fruits of his devotion. So she devised the following plan to exculpate him from his two crimes at the same time, and thus replied:—“Priest! ‘Intelligence can conquer even Fate,’ is the proverb. WhenKâligave 500 years’ life to Vikramâditya in his town, Bhatti, his minister, by making the king live six months in his capital and six months in the jungle, made his master’s life to last for 1000 years. So by intelligence we conquer our fate too, sometimes. So hear my advice. Ask the king who has come to murder you to hold one end of the knife, and request his minister to hold the other end. Ask both of them to aim the blow at your neck; that will accomplish everything complete during this life. They will have no revenge to take from you in your next life.”So saying, the voice of the goddess stopped. The priest came back with a cheerful heart to the king and the minister, and asked them to oblige him by each of them holding one end of the knife and murdering him. They agreed, and performed thus their vow.The poor priest, too, without having another miserable life, was born a king in his next life, and lived in prosperity.Here the story ends, and the story-teller in the Hindû household, and in my case my stepmother, would at once moralise, that if we did anything to any one in this life, that one would pay us out for it in our next life.N.B.—I am led to think that this story does not contain a purely Hindû moral.XXV.The Beggar and the Five Muffins.In a certain village there lived a poor beggar and his wife. The man used to go out every morning with a clean vessel in his hand, return home with rice enough for the day’s meal, and thus they lived on in extreme poverty.One day a poor MádhavaBrâhmiṇinvited the pair to a feast, and among Mádhavas muffins (tôśai) are always a part of the good things on festive occasions. So during the feast the beggar and his wife had their fill of muffins. They were so pleased with them, that the woman was extremely anxious to prepare some muffins in her own house, and began to save a little rice every day from what her husband brought her for the purpose. When enough had been thus collected she begged a poor neighbour’s wife to give her a little black pulse which the latter—praised be her charity—readily did. The faces of the beggar and his wife literally glowed with joy that day, for were they not to taste the long-desired muffins for a second time?The woman soon turned the rice she had been saving, and the black pulse she had obtained from her neighbour into a paste, and mixing it well with a little salt, green chillies, coriander seed and curds, set it in a pan on the fire; and with her mouth watering all the while, prepared five muffins! By the time her husband had returned from his collection of alms, she was just turning out of the pan the fifth muffin! And when she placed the whole five muffins before him his mouth, too, began to water. He kept two for himself and two he placed before his wife, but what was to be done with the fifth? He did not understand the way out of this difficulty. That half and half made one, and that each could take two and a half muffins was a question too hard for himtosolve. The beloved muffins must not be torn in pieces; so he said to his wife that either he or she must take the remaining one. But how were they to decide which should be the lucky one?Proposed the husband:—“Let us both shut our eyes and stretch ourselves as if in sleep, each on a verandah on either side the kitchen. Whoever opens an eye and speaks first gets only two muffins; and the other gets three.”So great was the desire of each to get the three muffins, that they both abided by the agreement, and the woman, though her mouth watered for the muffins, resolved to go through the ordeal. Sheplaced the five cakes in a pan and covered it over with another pan. She then carefully bolted the door inside and asking her husband to go into the east verandah, she lay down in the west one. Sleep she had none, and with closed eyes kept guard over her husband: for if he spoke first he would have only two muffins, and the other three would come to her share. Equally watchful was her husband over her.Thus passed one whole day—two—three! The house was never opened! No beggar came to receive the morning dole. The whole village began to enquire after the missing beggar. What had become of him? What had become of his wife?“See whether his house is locked on the outside and whether he has left us to go to some other village,” spoke the greyheads.So the village watchman came and tried to push the door open, but it would not open!“Surely,” said they, “it is locked on the inside! Some great calamity must have happened. Perhaps thieves have entered the house, and after plundering their property, murdered the inmates.”“But what property is a beggar likely to have?” thought the village assembly, and not liking to waste time in idle speculations, they sent two watchmen to climb the roof and open the latch from the inside.Meanwhile the whole village, men, women, and children, stood outside the beggar’s house to see whathad taken place inside. The watchmen jumped into the house, and to their horror found the beggar and his wife stretched on opposite verandahs like two corpses. They opened the door, and the whole village rushed in. They, too, saw the beggar and his wife lying so still that they thought them to be dead. And though the beggar pair had heard everything that passed around them, neither would open an eye or speak. For whoever did it first would get only two muffins!At the public expense of the village two green litters of bamboo and cocoanut leaves were prepared on which to remove the unfortunate pair to the cremation ground.“How loving they must have been to have died together like this!” said some greybeards of the village.In time the cremation ground was reached, and village watchmen had collected a score of dried cowdung cakes and a bundle of firewood from each house, for the funeral pyre. From these charitable contributionstwopyres had been prepared, one for the man and one for the woman. The pyre was then lighted, and when the fire approached his leg, the man thought it time to give up the ordeal and to be satisfied with only two muffins! So while the villagers were still continuing the funeral rites, they suddenly heard a voice:—“I shall be satisfied with two muffins!”Immediately another voice replied from the woman’s pyre:—“I have gained the day; let me have the three!”The villagers were amazed and ran away. One bold man alone stood face to face with the supposed dead husband and wife. He was a bold man, indeed for when a dead man or a man supposed to have died comes to life, village people consider him to be a ghost. However, this bold villager questioned the beggars until he came to know their story. He then went after the runaways and related to them the whole story of the five muffins to their great amazement.But what was to be done to the people who had thus voluntarily faced death out of love for muffins. Persons who had ascended the green litter and slept on the funeral pyre could never come back to the village! If they did the whole village would perish. So the elders built a small hut in a deserted meadow outside the village and made the beggar and his wife live there.Ever after that memorable day our hero and his wife were called the muffin beggar, and the muffin beggar’s wife, and many old ladies and young children from the village use to bring them muffins in the morning and evening, out of pity for them, for had they not loved muffin so much that they underwent death in life?XXVI.The Brahmarâkshas and the Hair.In a certain village there lived a very rich landlord, who owned several villages, but was such a great miser that no tenant would willingly cultivate his lands, and those he had gave him not a little trouble. He was indeed so vexed with them that he left all his lands untilled, and his tanks and irrigation channels dried up. All this, of course, made him poorer and poorer day by day. Nevertheless he never liked the idea of freely opening his purse to his tenants and obtaining their good will.While he was in this frame of mind a learnedSanyâsipaid him a visit, and on his representing his case to him, he said:—“My dear son,—I know an incantation (mantra) in which I can instruct you. If you repeat it for three months day and night, a Brahmarâkshas will appear before you on the first day of the fourth month. Make him your servant, and then you can set at naught all your petty troubles with yourtenants. The Brahmarâkshas will obey all your orders, and you will find him equal to one hundred servants.”Our hero fell at his feet and begged to be instructed at once. The sage then sat facing the east and his disciple the landlord facing the west, and in this position formal instruction was given, after which theSanyâsiwent his way.The landlord, mightily pleased at what he had learnt, went on practising the incantation, till, on the first day of the fourth month, the great Brahmarâkshas stood before him.“What do you want, sir, from my hands?” said he; “what is the object of your having propitiated me for these three months?”The landlord was thunderstruck at the huge monster who now stood before him and still more so at his terrible voice, but nevertheless he said:—“I want you to become my servant and obey all my commands.”“Agreed,” answered the Brahmarâkshas in a very mild tone, for it was his duty to leave off his impertinent ways when any one who had performed the required penance wanted him to become his servant; “Agreed. But you must always give me work to do; when one job is finished you must at once give me a second, and so on. If you fail I shall kill you.”The landlord, thinking that he would have workfor several such Brahmarâkshasas, was pleased to see that his demoniacal servant was so eager to help him. He at once took him to a big tank which had been dried up for several years, and pointing it out spoke as follows:—“You see this big tank; you must make it as deep as the height of two palmyra trees and repair the embankment wherever it is broken.”“Yes, my master, your orders shall be obeyed,” humbly replied the servant and fell to work.The landlord, thinking that it would take several months, if not years, to do the work in the tank, for it was twokoslong and onekosbroad, returned delighted to his home, where his people were awaiting him with a sumptuous dinner. When enemies were approaching the Brahmarâkshas came to inform his master that he had finished his work in the tank. He was indeed astonished and feared for his own life!“What! finished the work in one day which I thought would occupy him for months and years; if he goes on at this rate, how shall I keep him employed. And when I cannot find it for him he will kill me!” Thus he thought and began to weep; his wife wiped the tears that ran down his face, and said:—“My dearest husband, you must not lose courage. Get out of the Brahmarâkshas all the work you canand then let me know. I’ll give him something that will keep him engaged for a very very long time, and then he’ll trouble us no more.”But her husband only thought her words to be meaningless and followed the Brahmarâkshas to see what he had done. Sure enough the thing was as complete as could be, so he asked him to ploughallhis lands, which extended over twenty villages! This was done in twoghaṭikâs! He next made him dig and cultivateallhis garden lands. This was done in the twinkling of an eye! The landlord now grew hopeless.“What more work have you for me?” roared the Brahmarâkshas, as he found that his master had nothing for him to do, and that the time for his eating him up was approaching.“My dear friend,” said he, “my wife says she has a little job to give you; do it please now. I think that that is the last thing I can give you to do, and after it in obedience to the conditions under which you took service with me, I must become your prey!”At this moment his wife came to them, holding in her left hand a long hair, which she had just pulled out from her head, and said:—“Well, Brahmarâkshas, I have only a very light job for you. Take this hair, and when you have made it straight, bring it back to me.”The Brahmarâkshas calmly took it, and sat in apîpaltree to make it straight. He rolled it several times on his thigh and lifted it up to see if it became straight; but no, it would still bend! Just then it occurred to him that goldsmiths, when they want to make their metal wires straight, have them heated in fire; so he went to a fire and placed the hair over it, and of course it frizzled up with a nasty smell! He was horrified!“What will my master’s wife say if I do not produce the hair she gave me?”So he became mightily afraid, and ran away.This story is told to explain the modern custom of nailing a handful of hair to a tree in which devils are supposed to dwell, to drive them away.

XXII.Keep it for the Beggar.When anything sweet is prepared in the house on a particular night, and when the children, after feeding to their fill, say to the mother:—“Ammâ, this pudding is sweet; keep it for the morning,” the mother says at once:—“Ask me to keep it for the beggar, and I shall do it.”“Why should I not say keep it for the morning, Ammâ,” ask the curious children, and the South Indian mother gives to her listening children the following story:—In a certain village there lived an affectionate husband and wife. The husband would go to look after the fields and garden and return home with abundance of vegetables. The wife would cook and serve her lord to his fill. Before going out in the morning the husband used to take whatever of last night’s dishes were left cold to remain for his breakfast.The husband was a great eater ofdhâl1soup.Every night the wife used to prepare a large quantity of it and leave a good portion of it to stand for the morning’s breakfast of her lord. And he, too, owing to his taste for the cold rice, used to warn his wife—though she was very careful—and say:—“Keep me some of this soup for the next morning.”The wife used to say: “Yes, my dear husband, I shall do so.”This went on for several years. Every day thedhâlsoup was invariably prepared for the night meal and a good portion of it was reserved for the cold rice. Every night, the husband, without forgetting for even a single day, used to ask his wife to reserve a portion. Thus passed on several years, as we have already said.One night this husband had his supper. The wife had sat at her husband’s leaf to take her supper after her lord had had his. That night, too, our hero, as usual, repeated:—“Keep, my dear, some of this soup for the morning.”At once a gurgling laughter was heard near the doorsill of their house. The pair were astonished, and searched their whole house. No one was discovered. Again the husband said:—“Keep, my dear, some of this soup for the morning.”Again the laughter was heard. Finding that the laughter immediately followed his order, the husband repeated it a third time. A third time also the laughter broke out. They were astonished. Three times had laughter been heard in their house, and still they could see no one. Thinking that some one must have mocked him from the neighbouring houses, he made careful inquiries and satisfied himself that none of his neighbours had mocked him. He was afraid at the laughter which thrice proceeded from a part of his house, as he had heard it distinctly.That very night our hero had a sudden and unforeseen calamity, and just as he was dragging the latch of his backyard door a serpent stung him in his finger. Neighbours hearing of the venomous reptile in their next house, ran there with a stout cudgel. Already the master of the house, who was passionately fond of thedhâlsoup, had swooned away. His wife was mourning by his side, saying:—“My dear husband. How did you forget your soup so soon and leave us all for the other world? Just now you gave me the order, and before tasting it even you have died.”The neighbours began to search for the snake; but they did not succeed. And again a voice exclaimed from vacuum:—“This husband’s fate ended at the twelfthghaṭikâof this night. Yama ordered me to go and fetch him to his world. I came down and reached this house at the eighthghaṭikâwhen the husband was giving the order to reserve for the morning meal his deardhâlsoup. I could not contain my laughter, and so broke out with a gurgling noise. As I am divine no one could perceive me. And so none ever found me in this house after they heard the laughter. Then I transformed myself into a serpent and waited for the hour to do my death-dealing duty. The poor man is now no more. Fourghaṭikâsago he was of opinion that he would live and eat his cold rice to-morrow morning. How very sanguine people are in this world of uncertainty. The cause for my laughter was the husband’s certainty when he issued that order to reserve thedhâlsoup for the breakfast.”Thus ended the messenger, and vanished of course to inform his master how he had executed his orders.And from that day, my children, it was fixed that our life in this world is always uncertain, and that one who lives at this moment cannot be sure of doing so at the next moment. While such is the case, how can you say, “Keep the pudding for to-morrow morning.” Since you saw in the story just related to you, that we can never be certain of our life, you must say, instead of “for to-morrow morning, for the beggar.” If we keep it for the beggar,and if we fortunately live till to-morrow morning, we shall use a portion of it and give the remainder to the beggar. Hence you must always, hereafter, say when any supper from overnight is to be left for the morning, “Keep it for the beggar, Ammâ.”“Yes, mother. We shall do so hereafter,” replied the children.In India, amongBrâhmiṇs, the wife must never take her food before her lord, unless she is pregnant or sick. In these two cases even on the days when it is possible to avoid the meal before her lord, the wifeinvariablydoes it; on other days she cannot probably help it when she is physically unable. And in taking her meal, the wife sits in front of the leaf (dish) from which her husband has eaten. Most husbands generally leave their leaves clean, some out of pure affection to their wives and out of a good intention of not injuring the feelings of their wives. But there are others, who, as they are unclean in their other habits, are also unclean in their eating. The appearance of their leaves after they have left off eating, is like those thrown out in the streets and mutilated by crows and dogs. But their wives, cursing their lot to have married such husbands, must, as long as they are orthodox, eat out of those leaves.1A yellow grain, peculiar to India.

XXII.Keep it for the Beggar.

When anything sweet is prepared in the house on a particular night, and when the children, after feeding to their fill, say to the mother:—“Ammâ, this pudding is sweet; keep it for the morning,” the mother says at once:—“Ask me to keep it for the beggar, and I shall do it.”“Why should I not say keep it for the morning, Ammâ,” ask the curious children, and the South Indian mother gives to her listening children the following story:—In a certain village there lived an affectionate husband and wife. The husband would go to look after the fields and garden and return home with abundance of vegetables. The wife would cook and serve her lord to his fill. Before going out in the morning the husband used to take whatever of last night’s dishes were left cold to remain for his breakfast.The husband was a great eater ofdhâl1soup.Every night the wife used to prepare a large quantity of it and leave a good portion of it to stand for the morning’s breakfast of her lord. And he, too, owing to his taste for the cold rice, used to warn his wife—though she was very careful—and say:—“Keep me some of this soup for the next morning.”The wife used to say: “Yes, my dear husband, I shall do so.”This went on for several years. Every day thedhâlsoup was invariably prepared for the night meal and a good portion of it was reserved for the cold rice. Every night, the husband, without forgetting for even a single day, used to ask his wife to reserve a portion. Thus passed on several years, as we have already said.One night this husband had his supper. The wife had sat at her husband’s leaf to take her supper after her lord had had his. That night, too, our hero, as usual, repeated:—“Keep, my dear, some of this soup for the morning.”At once a gurgling laughter was heard near the doorsill of their house. The pair were astonished, and searched their whole house. No one was discovered. Again the husband said:—“Keep, my dear, some of this soup for the morning.”Again the laughter was heard. Finding that the laughter immediately followed his order, the husband repeated it a third time. A third time also the laughter broke out. They were astonished. Three times had laughter been heard in their house, and still they could see no one. Thinking that some one must have mocked him from the neighbouring houses, he made careful inquiries and satisfied himself that none of his neighbours had mocked him. He was afraid at the laughter which thrice proceeded from a part of his house, as he had heard it distinctly.That very night our hero had a sudden and unforeseen calamity, and just as he was dragging the latch of his backyard door a serpent stung him in his finger. Neighbours hearing of the venomous reptile in their next house, ran there with a stout cudgel. Already the master of the house, who was passionately fond of thedhâlsoup, had swooned away. His wife was mourning by his side, saying:—“My dear husband. How did you forget your soup so soon and leave us all for the other world? Just now you gave me the order, and before tasting it even you have died.”The neighbours began to search for the snake; but they did not succeed. And again a voice exclaimed from vacuum:—“This husband’s fate ended at the twelfthghaṭikâof this night. Yama ordered me to go and fetch him to his world. I came down and reached this house at the eighthghaṭikâwhen the husband was giving the order to reserve for the morning meal his deardhâlsoup. I could not contain my laughter, and so broke out with a gurgling noise. As I am divine no one could perceive me. And so none ever found me in this house after they heard the laughter. Then I transformed myself into a serpent and waited for the hour to do my death-dealing duty. The poor man is now no more. Fourghaṭikâsago he was of opinion that he would live and eat his cold rice to-morrow morning. How very sanguine people are in this world of uncertainty. The cause for my laughter was the husband’s certainty when he issued that order to reserve thedhâlsoup for the breakfast.”Thus ended the messenger, and vanished of course to inform his master how he had executed his orders.And from that day, my children, it was fixed that our life in this world is always uncertain, and that one who lives at this moment cannot be sure of doing so at the next moment. While such is the case, how can you say, “Keep the pudding for to-morrow morning.” Since you saw in the story just related to you, that we can never be certain of our life, you must say, instead of “for to-morrow morning, for the beggar.” If we keep it for the beggar,and if we fortunately live till to-morrow morning, we shall use a portion of it and give the remainder to the beggar. Hence you must always, hereafter, say when any supper from overnight is to be left for the morning, “Keep it for the beggar, Ammâ.”“Yes, mother. We shall do so hereafter,” replied the children.In India, amongBrâhmiṇs, the wife must never take her food before her lord, unless she is pregnant or sick. In these two cases even on the days when it is possible to avoid the meal before her lord, the wifeinvariablydoes it; on other days she cannot probably help it when she is physically unable. And in taking her meal, the wife sits in front of the leaf (dish) from which her husband has eaten. Most husbands generally leave their leaves clean, some out of pure affection to their wives and out of a good intention of not injuring the feelings of their wives. But there are others, who, as they are unclean in their other habits, are also unclean in their eating. The appearance of their leaves after they have left off eating, is like those thrown out in the streets and mutilated by crows and dogs. But their wives, cursing their lot to have married such husbands, must, as long as they are orthodox, eat out of those leaves.

When anything sweet is prepared in the house on a particular night, and when the children, after feeding to their fill, say to the mother:—

“Ammâ, this pudding is sweet; keep it for the morning,” the mother says at once:—

“Ask me to keep it for the beggar, and I shall do it.”

“Why should I not say keep it for the morning, Ammâ,” ask the curious children, and the South Indian mother gives to her listening children the following story:—

In a certain village there lived an affectionate husband and wife. The husband would go to look after the fields and garden and return home with abundance of vegetables. The wife would cook and serve her lord to his fill. Before going out in the morning the husband used to take whatever of last night’s dishes were left cold to remain for his breakfast.

The husband was a great eater ofdhâl1soup.Every night the wife used to prepare a large quantity of it and leave a good portion of it to stand for the morning’s breakfast of her lord. And he, too, owing to his taste for the cold rice, used to warn his wife—though she was very careful—and say:—

“Keep me some of this soup for the next morning.”

The wife used to say: “Yes, my dear husband, I shall do so.”

This went on for several years. Every day thedhâlsoup was invariably prepared for the night meal and a good portion of it was reserved for the cold rice. Every night, the husband, without forgetting for even a single day, used to ask his wife to reserve a portion. Thus passed on several years, as we have already said.

One night this husband had his supper. The wife had sat at her husband’s leaf to take her supper after her lord had had his. That night, too, our hero, as usual, repeated:—

“Keep, my dear, some of this soup for the morning.”

At once a gurgling laughter was heard near the doorsill of their house. The pair were astonished, and searched their whole house. No one was discovered. Again the husband said:—

“Keep, my dear, some of this soup for the morning.”

Again the laughter was heard. Finding that the laughter immediately followed his order, the husband repeated it a third time. A third time also the laughter broke out. They were astonished. Three times had laughter been heard in their house, and still they could see no one. Thinking that some one must have mocked him from the neighbouring houses, he made careful inquiries and satisfied himself that none of his neighbours had mocked him. He was afraid at the laughter which thrice proceeded from a part of his house, as he had heard it distinctly.

That very night our hero had a sudden and unforeseen calamity, and just as he was dragging the latch of his backyard door a serpent stung him in his finger. Neighbours hearing of the venomous reptile in their next house, ran there with a stout cudgel. Already the master of the house, who was passionately fond of thedhâlsoup, had swooned away. His wife was mourning by his side, saying:—

“My dear husband. How did you forget your soup so soon and leave us all for the other world? Just now you gave me the order, and before tasting it even you have died.”

The neighbours began to search for the snake; but they did not succeed. And again a voice exclaimed from vacuum:—

“This husband’s fate ended at the twelfthghaṭikâof this night. Yama ordered me to go and fetch him to his world. I came down and reached this house at the eighthghaṭikâwhen the husband was giving the order to reserve for the morning meal his deardhâlsoup. I could not contain my laughter, and so broke out with a gurgling noise. As I am divine no one could perceive me. And so none ever found me in this house after they heard the laughter. Then I transformed myself into a serpent and waited for the hour to do my death-dealing duty. The poor man is now no more. Fourghaṭikâsago he was of opinion that he would live and eat his cold rice to-morrow morning. How very sanguine people are in this world of uncertainty. The cause for my laughter was the husband’s certainty when he issued that order to reserve thedhâlsoup for the breakfast.”

Thus ended the messenger, and vanished of course to inform his master how he had executed his orders.

And from that day, my children, it was fixed that our life in this world is always uncertain, and that one who lives at this moment cannot be sure of doing so at the next moment. While such is the case, how can you say, “Keep the pudding for to-morrow morning.” Since you saw in the story just related to you, that we can never be certain of our life, you must say, instead of “for to-morrow morning, for the beggar.” If we keep it for the beggar,and if we fortunately live till to-morrow morning, we shall use a portion of it and give the remainder to the beggar. Hence you must always, hereafter, say when any supper from overnight is to be left for the morning, “Keep it for the beggar, Ammâ.”

“Yes, mother. We shall do so hereafter,” replied the children.

In India, amongBrâhmiṇs, the wife must never take her food before her lord, unless she is pregnant or sick. In these two cases even on the days when it is possible to avoid the meal before her lord, the wifeinvariablydoes it; on other days she cannot probably help it when she is physically unable. And in taking her meal, the wife sits in front of the leaf (dish) from which her husband has eaten. Most husbands generally leave their leaves clean, some out of pure affection to their wives and out of a good intention of not injuring the feelings of their wives. But there are others, who, as they are unclean in their other habits, are also unclean in their eating. The appearance of their leaves after they have left off eating, is like those thrown out in the streets and mutilated by crows and dogs. But their wives, cursing their lot to have married such husbands, must, as long as they are orthodox, eat out of those leaves.

1A yellow grain, peculiar to India.

1A yellow grain, peculiar to India.

XXIII.Good Luck to the Lucky One; Or, Shall I Fall Down?In a certain town there lived a wealthyBrâhmiṇ. He wished to build a house—pretty large and spacious—as became his riches. For that purpose he called in a great number of soothsayers, and fixed, guided by their scientific opinion, a place for building the mansion. A certain portion of every day is supposed to be bad for doing work. This portion is sometimes called theRâhu-kâḷa—the evil time of the demonrâhuand sometimestyâjya—the time to be avoided. And abandoning carefully all these evil hours the wealthyBrâhmiṇbuilt his mansion in ten years. The first entrance into a new house to dwell is performed always with a great deal of pomp and ceremony, even by the poor according to their means. And our wealthyBrâhmiṇto please the gods of the other world and the gods of this world—bhûsurasBrâhmiṇs—spent a great deal of his wealth, andwithveorasand music sounding all around him he entered into his house.The whole of the day almost was spent in ceremonies and festivities. All the guests left the place at evening, and much exhausted by the exertions of the day theBrâhmiṇhouse-owner retired to rest. Before sleep could close his eyelids he heard a fearful voice over his head exclaiming:—“Shall I fall down? Shall I fall down?”Great was the concern of the landlord at hearing this voice. He thought that some demon had taken possession of his house, and that he was going to pull down the roof of his house over his own head. That very night with as much haste as he entered the new house, he vacated it and went back to his old house.Sirukakhaṭti perukavâḷkais the Tamil proverb. The meaning of it is “build small and live great,”i.e., build small houses without laying out much capital uselessly in houses and live prosperously; and in villages many a rich landlord would prefer small houses to big ones. The idea that he had spent a great deal of money to build a big house troubled our hero. The spaciousness of the house was one reason for the devil to come in so easily, as he thought. When he vacated his house on the very night of the day he entered it people began to talk all sorts of scandals about it. The ladies in thebathing places (ghaṭs) in rivers began to give all sorts of colour to the devils in that house. One said that when she was coming to the river she saw a company of devils dancing round and round the middle pillar of the upper storey of that unfortunate house. Another said that she observed unearthly lights in that mansion the previous night. Thus people talked and talked, furnishing new colours and new adventures out of their pure imagination for a phenomena which they never saw. And our unfortunate rich man had to lock up his house which he built after so many days, and at the expense of so much money. Thus passed six months.In that town there lived a poor beggarBrâhmiṇ. He was in extreme poverty, and spent a great portion of the day in begging from house to house his meal and clothes. He had, poor man, seven children. With this large family he was constantly in the greatest misery. He had not a proper house to live in. A miserable hut was all his wealth in that village. Winter was approaching, and the roof of their only hut began to fall down. The increasing miseries made the poorBrâhmiṇresolve upon suicide. He could not bring himself to do that by his own hand. He had heard of the haunted house, and resolved to go there with all his family and perish by the hands of the devils. This was his secret intention, but he never spoke of itto any one. One day he came to the richBrâhmiṇwho was the owner of the haunted mansion, and spoke to him thus:—“My noble lord! The winter is approaching and the roof of my hut has fallen away. If you would kindly allow it I shall pass the rainy days in your big house.”When the rich man heard this he was very glad to see that one person at least there was in his little world who wanted the use of his house. So, without hesitating any longer, he replied:—“My most holy sir, you can have the free use of that whole house for whatever time you may want it. It is enough if you light a lamp there and live happily. I built it, and I am not destined to live there. You can go and try your fortune there.”So said the rich landlord, and gave the key of that haunted house to the poorBrâhmiṇ. The latter took it, and with his family went and lived there from that day. That very night he also heard the same voice: “Shall I fall down?” “Shall I fall down?” twice. Nothing daunted, and quite resolved to perish with his wife and children, who were sound asleep near him, he exclaimed, “Fall down,” and lo! a golden river ofmohursandpagodasbegan to fall down in the middle of the room from the top of the roof. It began falling and falling without any stopping till the poorBrâhmiṇ, who sat agapewith wonder, began to fear that they would all be buried inmohurs. The moment he saw the sea of wealth before him, his idea of suicide abandoned him. “Stop please,” said he at once, and themohur-fall came to a sudden stop. He was delighted at the good nature of the devil, or whatever good spirit might have taken possession of the house, for its having given him so much wealth. He heaped up all themohursin one room, and locked it up, and had the key of it in his own possession. His wife and children got up during themohur-fall. They also were informed of everything. The poorBrâhmiṇadvised his wife and children to keep the matter secret, and they, to their great credit, did so. They all—the poor parents and children—rejoiced at the good fortune that had made its visit to them.As soon as morning dawned the poorBrâhmiṇconverted little by little hismohursinto money and bought grains and clothes for his family. This he did day by day till rumour began to spread that the poorBrâhmiṇhad found a treasure-trove in the rich landlord’s house. Of course this rumour reached the ears of the wealthy man also. He came to the poorBrâhmiṇand asked him all about the treasure-trove. The latter to his great honour related to the landlord every bit of themohur-fall. He also wished to witness it and sleep in the room with the poorBrâhmiṇ, for the first time in his life,his thirst formohursinducing him to do so. At about midnight “Shall I fall down?” was again heard.“Fall down” said the poorBrâhmiṇ, and lo! themohursbegan to descend like a water-fall. But, horror of horrors, they all appeared as so many scorpions to the house-owner. The poor man was heaping up the gold coins, but all of them seemed to crawl as so many scorpions to the eyes of the landlord.“Stop please,” said the poor man, and themohur-fall stopped.Then turning to the house-owner, the poor man said: “My lord, you may take home this heap for your use.”The house-owner began to weep and said: “Most fortunate of mankind, I have heard my old father often repeat a proverb, ‘To the fortunate fortune comes,’ and its meaning I have discovered to-day only. I built the house and ran away when I heard the ‘shall I fall.’ No doubt I did very well, for had I remained a scorpion torrent would have sent me to the other world. Know then my most fortunate friend, that I see all yourmohursas so many scorpions. I have not the fortune to see them asmohurs. But you have that gift. So from this moment this house is yours. Whatever you can convert into money of yourmohursI shall receive and bless you.”So saying the house-owner came out of the room fearing the scorpions. And our poor man thus had all the fortune to himself, and was no longer a poor man. He soon became one of the wealthiest of men of his time, but remembering that he owed all his riches to thewealthy landlordwho gave him the house, he used to share with the latter half of his wealth every year.This story explains the Tamil proverbMadrishṭam uḷḷavanukku kiḍaikkum; to the fortunate good fortune.N.B.—This story was also related to me by my step-mother whose birth-place is a village in the Trichinopoly district.N. S.

XXIII.Good Luck to the Lucky One; Or, Shall I Fall Down?

In a certain town there lived a wealthyBrâhmiṇ. He wished to build a house—pretty large and spacious—as became his riches. For that purpose he called in a great number of soothsayers, and fixed, guided by their scientific opinion, a place for building the mansion. A certain portion of every day is supposed to be bad for doing work. This portion is sometimes called theRâhu-kâḷa—the evil time of the demonrâhuand sometimestyâjya—the time to be avoided. And abandoning carefully all these evil hours the wealthyBrâhmiṇbuilt his mansion in ten years. The first entrance into a new house to dwell is performed always with a great deal of pomp and ceremony, even by the poor according to their means. And our wealthyBrâhmiṇto please the gods of the other world and the gods of this world—bhûsurasBrâhmiṇs—spent a great deal of his wealth, andwithveorasand music sounding all around him he entered into his house.The whole of the day almost was spent in ceremonies and festivities. All the guests left the place at evening, and much exhausted by the exertions of the day theBrâhmiṇhouse-owner retired to rest. Before sleep could close his eyelids he heard a fearful voice over his head exclaiming:—“Shall I fall down? Shall I fall down?”Great was the concern of the landlord at hearing this voice. He thought that some demon had taken possession of his house, and that he was going to pull down the roof of his house over his own head. That very night with as much haste as he entered the new house, he vacated it and went back to his old house.Sirukakhaṭti perukavâḷkais the Tamil proverb. The meaning of it is “build small and live great,”i.e., build small houses without laying out much capital uselessly in houses and live prosperously; and in villages many a rich landlord would prefer small houses to big ones. The idea that he had spent a great deal of money to build a big house troubled our hero. The spaciousness of the house was one reason for the devil to come in so easily, as he thought. When he vacated his house on the very night of the day he entered it people began to talk all sorts of scandals about it. The ladies in thebathing places (ghaṭs) in rivers began to give all sorts of colour to the devils in that house. One said that when she was coming to the river she saw a company of devils dancing round and round the middle pillar of the upper storey of that unfortunate house. Another said that she observed unearthly lights in that mansion the previous night. Thus people talked and talked, furnishing new colours and new adventures out of their pure imagination for a phenomena which they never saw. And our unfortunate rich man had to lock up his house which he built after so many days, and at the expense of so much money. Thus passed six months.In that town there lived a poor beggarBrâhmiṇ. He was in extreme poverty, and spent a great portion of the day in begging from house to house his meal and clothes. He had, poor man, seven children. With this large family he was constantly in the greatest misery. He had not a proper house to live in. A miserable hut was all his wealth in that village. Winter was approaching, and the roof of their only hut began to fall down. The increasing miseries made the poorBrâhmiṇresolve upon suicide. He could not bring himself to do that by his own hand. He had heard of the haunted house, and resolved to go there with all his family and perish by the hands of the devils. This was his secret intention, but he never spoke of itto any one. One day he came to the richBrâhmiṇwho was the owner of the haunted mansion, and spoke to him thus:—“My noble lord! The winter is approaching and the roof of my hut has fallen away. If you would kindly allow it I shall pass the rainy days in your big house.”When the rich man heard this he was very glad to see that one person at least there was in his little world who wanted the use of his house. So, without hesitating any longer, he replied:—“My most holy sir, you can have the free use of that whole house for whatever time you may want it. It is enough if you light a lamp there and live happily. I built it, and I am not destined to live there. You can go and try your fortune there.”So said the rich landlord, and gave the key of that haunted house to the poorBrâhmiṇ. The latter took it, and with his family went and lived there from that day. That very night he also heard the same voice: “Shall I fall down?” “Shall I fall down?” twice. Nothing daunted, and quite resolved to perish with his wife and children, who were sound asleep near him, he exclaimed, “Fall down,” and lo! a golden river ofmohursandpagodasbegan to fall down in the middle of the room from the top of the roof. It began falling and falling without any stopping till the poorBrâhmiṇ, who sat agapewith wonder, began to fear that they would all be buried inmohurs. The moment he saw the sea of wealth before him, his idea of suicide abandoned him. “Stop please,” said he at once, and themohur-fall came to a sudden stop. He was delighted at the good nature of the devil, or whatever good spirit might have taken possession of the house, for its having given him so much wealth. He heaped up all themohursin one room, and locked it up, and had the key of it in his own possession. His wife and children got up during themohur-fall. They also were informed of everything. The poorBrâhmiṇadvised his wife and children to keep the matter secret, and they, to their great credit, did so. They all—the poor parents and children—rejoiced at the good fortune that had made its visit to them.As soon as morning dawned the poorBrâhmiṇconverted little by little hismohursinto money and bought grains and clothes for his family. This he did day by day till rumour began to spread that the poorBrâhmiṇhad found a treasure-trove in the rich landlord’s house. Of course this rumour reached the ears of the wealthy man also. He came to the poorBrâhmiṇand asked him all about the treasure-trove. The latter to his great honour related to the landlord every bit of themohur-fall. He also wished to witness it and sleep in the room with the poorBrâhmiṇ, for the first time in his life,his thirst formohursinducing him to do so. At about midnight “Shall I fall down?” was again heard.“Fall down” said the poorBrâhmiṇ, and lo! themohursbegan to descend like a water-fall. But, horror of horrors, they all appeared as so many scorpions to the house-owner. The poor man was heaping up the gold coins, but all of them seemed to crawl as so many scorpions to the eyes of the landlord.“Stop please,” said the poor man, and themohur-fall stopped.Then turning to the house-owner, the poor man said: “My lord, you may take home this heap for your use.”The house-owner began to weep and said: “Most fortunate of mankind, I have heard my old father often repeat a proverb, ‘To the fortunate fortune comes,’ and its meaning I have discovered to-day only. I built the house and ran away when I heard the ‘shall I fall.’ No doubt I did very well, for had I remained a scorpion torrent would have sent me to the other world. Know then my most fortunate friend, that I see all yourmohursas so many scorpions. I have not the fortune to see them asmohurs. But you have that gift. So from this moment this house is yours. Whatever you can convert into money of yourmohursI shall receive and bless you.”So saying the house-owner came out of the room fearing the scorpions. And our poor man thus had all the fortune to himself, and was no longer a poor man. He soon became one of the wealthiest of men of his time, but remembering that he owed all his riches to thewealthy landlordwho gave him the house, he used to share with the latter half of his wealth every year.This story explains the Tamil proverbMadrishṭam uḷḷavanukku kiḍaikkum; to the fortunate good fortune.N.B.—This story was also related to me by my step-mother whose birth-place is a village in the Trichinopoly district.N. S.

In a certain town there lived a wealthyBrâhmiṇ. He wished to build a house—pretty large and spacious—as became his riches. For that purpose he called in a great number of soothsayers, and fixed, guided by their scientific opinion, a place for building the mansion. A certain portion of every day is supposed to be bad for doing work. This portion is sometimes called theRâhu-kâḷa—the evil time of the demonrâhuand sometimestyâjya—the time to be avoided. And abandoning carefully all these evil hours the wealthyBrâhmiṇbuilt his mansion in ten years. The first entrance into a new house to dwell is performed always with a great deal of pomp and ceremony, even by the poor according to their means. And our wealthyBrâhmiṇto please the gods of the other world and the gods of this world—bhûsurasBrâhmiṇs—spent a great deal of his wealth, andwithveorasand music sounding all around him he entered into his house.

The whole of the day almost was spent in ceremonies and festivities. All the guests left the place at evening, and much exhausted by the exertions of the day theBrâhmiṇhouse-owner retired to rest. Before sleep could close his eyelids he heard a fearful voice over his head exclaiming:—“Shall I fall down? Shall I fall down?”

Great was the concern of the landlord at hearing this voice. He thought that some demon had taken possession of his house, and that he was going to pull down the roof of his house over his own head. That very night with as much haste as he entered the new house, he vacated it and went back to his old house.

Sirukakhaṭti perukavâḷkais the Tamil proverb. The meaning of it is “build small and live great,”i.e., build small houses without laying out much capital uselessly in houses and live prosperously; and in villages many a rich landlord would prefer small houses to big ones. The idea that he had spent a great deal of money to build a big house troubled our hero. The spaciousness of the house was one reason for the devil to come in so easily, as he thought. When he vacated his house on the very night of the day he entered it people began to talk all sorts of scandals about it. The ladies in thebathing places (ghaṭs) in rivers began to give all sorts of colour to the devils in that house. One said that when she was coming to the river she saw a company of devils dancing round and round the middle pillar of the upper storey of that unfortunate house. Another said that she observed unearthly lights in that mansion the previous night. Thus people talked and talked, furnishing new colours and new adventures out of their pure imagination for a phenomena which they never saw. And our unfortunate rich man had to lock up his house which he built after so many days, and at the expense of so much money. Thus passed six months.

In that town there lived a poor beggarBrâhmiṇ. He was in extreme poverty, and spent a great portion of the day in begging from house to house his meal and clothes. He had, poor man, seven children. With this large family he was constantly in the greatest misery. He had not a proper house to live in. A miserable hut was all his wealth in that village. Winter was approaching, and the roof of their only hut began to fall down. The increasing miseries made the poorBrâhmiṇresolve upon suicide. He could not bring himself to do that by his own hand. He had heard of the haunted house, and resolved to go there with all his family and perish by the hands of the devils. This was his secret intention, but he never spoke of itto any one. One day he came to the richBrâhmiṇwho was the owner of the haunted mansion, and spoke to him thus:—

“My noble lord! The winter is approaching and the roof of my hut has fallen away. If you would kindly allow it I shall pass the rainy days in your big house.”

When the rich man heard this he was very glad to see that one person at least there was in his little world who wanted the use of his house. So, without hesitating any longer, he replied:—

“My most holy sir, you can have the free use of that whole house for whatever time you may want it. It is enough if you light a lamp there and live happily. I built it, and I am not destined to live there. You can go and try your fortune there.”

So said the rich landlord, and gave the key of that haunted house to the poorBrâhmiṇ. The latter took it, and with his family went and lived there from that day. That very night he also heard the same voice: “Shall I fall down?” “Shall I fall down?” twice. Nothing daunted, and quite resolved to perish with his wife and children, who were sound asleep near him, he exclaimed, “Fall down,” and lo! a golden river ofmohursandpagodasbegan to fall down in the middle of the room from the top of the roof. It began falling and falling without any stopping till the poorBrâhmiṇ, who sat agapewith wonder, began to fear that they would all be buried inmohurs. The moment he saw the sea of wealth before him, his idea of suicide abandoned him. “Stop please,” said he at once, and themohur-fall came to a sudden stop. He was delighted at the good nature of the devil, or whatever good spirit might have taken possession of the house, for its having given him so much wealth. He heaped up all themohursin one room, and locked it up, and had the key of it in his own possession. His wife and children got up during themohur-fall. They also were informed of everything. The poorBrâhmiṇadvised his wife and children to keep the matter secret, and they, to their great credit, did so. They all—the poor parents and children—rejoiced at the good fortune that had made its visit to them.

As soon as morning dawned the poorBrâhmiṇconverted little by little hismohursinto money and bought grains and clothes for his family. This he did day by day till rumour began to spread that the poorBrâhmiṇhad found a treasure-trove in the rich landlord’s house. Of course this rumour reached the ears of the wealthy man also. He came to the poorBrâhmiṇand asked him all about the treasure-trove. The latter to his great honour related to the landlord every bit of themohur-fall. He also wished to witness it and sleep in the room with the poorBrâhmiṇ, for the first time in his life,his thirst formohursinducing him to do so. At about midnight “Shall I fall down?” was again heard.

“Fall down” said the poorBrâhmiṇ, and lo! themohursbegan to descend like a water-fall. But, horror of horrors, they all appeared as so many scorpions to the house-owner. The poor man was heaping up the gold coins, but all of them seemed to crawl as so many scorpions to the eyes of the landlord.

“Stop please,” said the poor man, and themohur-fall stopped.

Then turning to the house-owner, the poor man said: “My lord, you may take home this heap for your use.”

The house-owner began to weep and said: “Most fortunate of mankind, I have heard my old father often repeat a proverb, ‘To the fortunate fortune comes,’ and its meaning I have discovered to-day only. I built the house and ran away when I heard the ‘shall I fall.’ No doubt I did very well, for had I remained a scorpion torrent would have sent me to the other world. Know then my most fortunate friend, that I see all yourmohursas so many scorpions. I have not the fortune to see them asmohurs. But you have that gift. So from this moment this house is yours. Whatever you can convert into money of yourmohursI shall receive and bless you.”

So saying the house-owner came out of the room fearing the scorpions. And our poor man thus had all the fortune to himself, and was no longer a poor man. He soon became one of the wealthiest of men of his time, but remembering that he owed all his riches to thewealthy landlordwho gave him the house, he used to share with the latter half of his wealth every year.

This story explains the Tamil proverbMadrishṭam uḷḷavanukku kiḍaikkum; to the fortunate good fortune.

N.B.—This story was also related to me by my step-mother whose birth-place is a village in the Trichinopoly district.

N. S.

XXIV.Retaliation—Palikkuppali.There is a proverb inTamil̤calledPalikkuppali vâṅgukiraduwhich would best be translated by the expression “tit for tat,” and the following story I heard when a boy from my step-mother, illustrating that proverb, and I have of late found the same story also in the Trichinopoly districts.In a certain village there lived a poor Śûdra. He had made a vow to the goddess of his village, that if he came out successfully in a certain undertaking he would offer her a couple of goats. And he succeeded in his undertaking, and thought that his goddess alone had granted his request. Great was his joy and greater became his faith in her extraordinary powers. And as he promised he brought two fat goats and sacrificed them to her.These goats thus sacrificed and the Śûdra sacrificer who meanwhile had died by a sudden fever, after a short time were all re-born in the world to undergo the results of their goodness or sin. The two goats, because they were sacrificed to thegoddess, were re-born as the king and the minister of a large country. The Śûdra, as he had as much faith in his former life as in his goddess, was reborn in the priest’s (gurukkula) caste, of course neither the king and his minister nor the priest had any reason to know their former life, until the death of the latter approached, as we shall presently see. A large kingdom fell to the share of the king, and he with his minister reigned over it most peacefully. In an unfrequented wilderness was a famous temple of a powerful goddess of of that country, and in that pagoda the priest regularly conducted her worship.Thus passed several years, the king and minister happy in their own kingdom, and the priest executing his religious duties in the wilderness. The priest was leading a most calm and holy life, eating what grew in the wilderness. His life was as pure as pure can be.But for all that fate would not forgive him for his acts in his former life.The king and the minister had vowed to the goddess of the wilderness that if they returned successfully from the conquest of an enemy of theirs they would offer her some human sacrifice. And so they returned, and to make entire their vow to the goddess they left their kingdom like ordinary men and came to the wood. All along the way they searchedfor a person to sacrifice, but no one—fortunately for him—was to be found. They still thought that the vow must not be left unaccomplished, and resolved upon catching the priest of the temple and offering him up as their intended sacrifice. When such strong people like the king and his minister resolved to do so, what could the poor priest do? He was quite unable to escape when those two informed him of what they were going to do with him on his entering to worship the goddess. Said the priest:—“Sirs! You have come here resolved upon offering me up as a sacrifice to the goddess. I cannot hereafter escape your hold. But if you would allow me to perform mypûjâto the goddess this morning also, I shall gladly die after having done my duty.”So said the priest, and the king and the minister watched at the entrance and let him in.The priest went into theGarbhagṛiha—the holy of the holies in the temple, and performed his worship to the goddess. After that was over he gave the image a severe blow on its back and thus addressed it:—“Most merciless goddess. What have you done for all my faith in you. In this lonely wilderness, without knowing any other duty than your worship, I had been your true servant for the past many years. And in reward for all that, I must fall now aprey to the sacrifice of the king and the minister who are sharpening their knives outside to cut off my head at this moment. Is this the result of all mypûjâ(worship) to you.”So spake the priest, and the goddess, laughing, thus replied from the vacuum:—“My true priest. Your acts in your former life must trouble you in this. And the charitable acts of this life, even, cannot protect you in your next birth. In your former birth you had murdered two goats. They were born as king and minister, and have dragged you here to murder you. But this—the murder you are to undergo soon, by these hands will relieve you only of one of the two murders of your former life. And for the other murder you and they would be re-born again, and again they would kill you. So in your next third life from this one you would enjoy the fruits of all this devotion. Since now you know the story of your former life, you will forgive me, I think.”Thus spoke the goddess, and the priest, as the knowledge of his former life dawned upon him, by the grace of the goddess, seemed resolved to die, in order to pay for his former sin. But the idea that in the next life he was to undergo the same punishment, vexed him much, and falling down at the goddess’s feet, he respectfully requested her to try her best to let him off the next life; and thegoddess’s heart was also moved at the severity of fate which would make her devotee pass through one more life in misery before he enjoyed the fruits of his devotion. So she devised the following plan to exculpate him from his two crimes at the same time, and thus replied:—“Priest! ‘Intelligence can conquer even Fate,’ is the proverb. WhenKâligave 500 years’ life to Vikramâditya in his town, Bhatti, his minister, by making the king live six months in his capital and six months in the jungle, made his master’s life to last for 1000 years. So by intelligence we conquer our fate too, sometimes. So hear my advice. Ask the king who has come to murder you to hold one end of the knife, and request his minister to hold the other end. Ask both of them to aim the blow at your neck; that will accomplish everything complete during this life. They will have no revenge to take from you in your next life.”So saying, the voice of the goddess stopped. The priest came back with a cheerful heart to the king and the minister, and asked them to oblige him by each of them holding one end of the knife and murdering him. They agreed, and performed thus their vow.The poor priest, too, without having another miserable life, was born a king in his next life, and lived in prosperity.Here the story ends, and the story-teller in the Hindû household, and in my case my stepmother, would at once moralise, that if we did anything to any one in this life, that one would pay us out for it in our next life.N.B.—I am led to think that this story does not contain a purely Hindû moral.

XXIV.Retaliation—Palikkuppali.

There is a proverb inTamil̤calledPalikkuppali vâṅgukiraduwhich would best be translated by the expression “tit for tat,” and the following story I heard when a boy from my step-mother, illustrating that proverb, and I have of late found the same story also in the Trichinopoly districts.In a certain village there lived a poor Śûdra. He had made a vow to the goddess of his village, that if he came out successfully in a certain undertaking he would offer her a couple of goats. And he succeeded in his undertaking, and thought that his goddess alone had granted his request. Great was his joy and greater became his faith in her extraordinary powers. And as he promised he brought two fat goats and sacrificed them to her.These goats thus sacrificed and the Śûdra sacrificer who meanwhile had died by a sudden fever, after a short time were all re-born in the world to undergo the results of their goodness or sin. The two goats, because they were sacrificed to thegoddess, were re-born as the king and the minister of a large country. The Śûdra, as he had as much faith in his former life as in his goddess, was reborn in the priest’s (gurukkula) caste, of course neither the king and his minister nor the priest had any reason to know their former life, until the death of the latter approached, as we shall presently see. A large kingdom fell to the share of the king, and he with his minister reigned over it most peacefully. In an unfrequented wilderness was a famous temple of a powerful goddess of of that country, and in that pagoda the priest regularly conducted her worship.Thus passed several years, the king and minister happy in their own kingdom, and the priest executing his religious duties in the wilderness. The priest was leading a most calm and holy life, eating what grew in the wilderness. His life was as pure as pure can be.But for all that fate would not forgive him for his acts in his former life.The king and the minister had vowed to the goddess of the wilderness that if they returned successfully from the conquest of an enemy of theirs they would offer her some human sacrifice. And so they returned, and to make entire their vow to the goddess they left their kingdom like ordinary men and came to the wood. All along the way they searchedfor a person to sacrifice, but no one—fortunately for him—was to be found. They still thought that the vow must not be left unaccomplished, and resolved upon catching the priest of the temple and offering him up as their intended sacrifice. When such strong people like the king and his minister resolved to do so, what could the poor priest do? He was quite unable to escape when those two informed him of what they were going to do with him on his entering to worship the goddess. Said the priest:—“Sirs! You have come here resolved upon offering me up as a sacrifice to the goddess. I cannot hereafter escape your hold. But if you would allow me to perform mypûjâto the goddess this morning also, I shall gladly die after having done my duty.”So said the priest, and the king and the minister watched at the entrance and let him in.The priest went into theGarbhagṛiha—the holy of the holies in the temple, and performed his worship to the goddess. After that was over he gave the image a severe blow on its back and thus addressed it:—“Most merciless goddess. What have you done for all my faith in you. In this lonely wilderness, without knowing any other duty than your worship, I had been your true servant for the past many years. And in reward for all that, I must fall now aprey to the sacrifice of the king and the minister who are sharpening their knives outside to cut off my head at this moment. Is this the result of all mypûjâ(worship) to you.”So spake the priest, and the goddess, laughing, thus replied from the vacuum:—“My true priest. Your acts in your former life must trouble you in this. And the charitable acts of this life, even, cannot protect you in your next birth. In your former birth you had murdered two goats. They were born as king and minister, and have dragged you here to murder you. But this—the murder you are to undergo soon, by these hands will relieve you only of one of the two murders of your former life. And for the other murder you and they would be re-born again, and again they would kill you. So in your next third life from this one you would enjoy the fruits of all this devotion. Since now you know the story of your former life, you will forgive me, I think.”Thus spoke the goddess, and the priest, as the knowledge of his former life dawned upon him, by the grace of the goddess, seemed resolved to die, in order to pay for his former sin. But the idea that in the next life he was to undergo the same punishment, vexed him much, and falling down at the goddess’s feet, he respectfully requested her to try her best to let him off the next life; and thegoddess’s heart was also moved at the severity of fate which would make her devotee pass through one more life in misery before he enjoyed the fruits of his devotion. So she devised the following plan to exculpate him from his two crimes at the same time, and thus replied:—“Priest! ‘Intelligence can conquer even Fate,’ is the proverb. WhenKâligave 500 years’ life to Vikramâditya in his town, Bhatti, his minister, by making the king live six months in his capital and six months in the jungle, made his master’s life to last for 1000 years. So by intelligence we conquer our fate too, sometimes. So hear my advice. Ask the king who has come to murder you to hold one end of the knife, and request his minister to hold the other end. Ask both of them to aim the blow at your neck; that will accomplish everything complete during this life. They will have no revenge to take from you in your next life.”So saying, the voice of the goddess stopped. The priest came back with a cheerful heart to the king and the minister, and asked them to oblige him by each of them holding one end of the knife and murdering him. They agreed, and performed thus their vow.The poor priest, too, without having another miserable life, was born a king in his next life, and lived in prosperity.Here the story ends, and the story-teller in the Hindû household, and in my case my stepmother, would at once moralise, that if we did anything to any one in this life, that one would pay us out for it in our next life.N.B.—I am led to think that this story does not contain a purely Hindû moral.

There is a proverb inTamil̤calledPalikkuppali vâṅgukiraduwhich would best be translated by the expression “tit for tat,” and the following story I heard when a boy from my step-mother, illustrating that proverb, and I have of late found the same story also in the Trichinopoly districts.

In a certain village there lived a poor Śûdra. He had made a vow to the goddess of his village, that if he came out successfully in a certain undertaking he would offer her a couple of goats. And he succeeded in his undertaking, and thought that his goddess alone had granted his request. Great was his joy and greater became his faith in her extraordinary powers. And as he promised he brought two fat goats and sacrificed them to her.

These goats thus sacrificed and the Śûdra sacrificer who meanwhile had died by a sudden fever, after a short time were all re-born in the world to undergo the results of their goodness or sin. The two goats, because they were sacrificed to thegoddess, were re-born as the king and the minister of a large country. The Śûdra, as he had as much faith in his former life as in his goddess, was reborn in the priest’s (gurukkula) caste, of course neither the king and his minister nor the priest had any reason to know their former life, until the death of the latter approached, as we shall presently see. A large kingdom fell to the share of the king, and he with his minister reigned over it most peacefully. In an unfrequented wilderness was a famous temple of a powerful goddess of of that country, and in that pagoda the priest regularly conducted her worship.

Thus passed several years, the king and minister happy in their own kingdom, and the priest executing his religious duties in the wilderness. The priest was leading a most calm and holy life, eating what grew in the wilderness. His life was as pure as pure can be.

But for all that fate would not forgive him for his acts in his former life.

The king and the minister had vowed to the goddess of the wilderness that if they returned successfully from the conquest of an enemy of theirs they would offer her some human sacrifice. And so they returned, and to make entire their vow to the goddess they left their kingdom like ordinary men and came to the wood. All along the way they searchedfor a person to sacrifice, but no one—fortunately for him—was to be found. They still thought that the vow must not be left unaccomplished, and resolved upon catching the priest of the temple and offering him up as their intended sacrifice. When such strong people like the king and his minister resolved to do so, what could the poor priest do? He was quite unable to escape when those two informed him of what they were going to do with him on his entering to worship the goddess. Said the priest:—

“Sirs! You have come here resolved upon offering me up as a sacrifice to the goddess. I cannot hereafter escape your hold. But if you would allow me to perform mypûjâto the goddess this morning also, I shall gladly die after having done my duty.”

So said the priest, and the king and the minister watched at the entrance and let him in.

The priest went into theGarbhagṛiha—the holy of the holies in the temple, and performed his worship to the goddess. After that was over he gave the image a severe blow on its back and thus addressed it:—

“Most merciless goddess. What have you done for all my faith in you. In this lonely wilderness, without knowing any other duty than your worship, I had been your true servant for the past many years. And in reward for all that, I must fall now aprey to the sacrifice of the king and the minister who are sharpening their knives outside to cut off my head at this moment. Is this the result of all mypûjâ(worship) to you.”

So spake the priest, and the goddess, laughing, thus replied from the vacuum:—

“My true priest. Your acts in your former life must trouble you in this. And the charitable acts of this life, even, cannot protect you in your next birth. In your former birth you had murdered two goats. They were born as king and minister, and have dragged you here to murder you. But this—the murder you are to undergo soon, by these hands will relieve you only of one of the two murders of your former life. And for the other murder you and they would be re-born again, and again they would kill you. So in your next third life from this one you would enjoy the fruits of all this devotion. Since now you know the story of your former life, you will forgive me, I think.”

Thus spoke the goddess, and the priest, as the knowledge of his former life dawned upon him, by the grace of the goddess, seemed resolved to die, in order to pay for his former sin. But the idea that in the next life he was to undergo the same punishment, vexed him much, and falling down at the goddess’s feet, he respectfully requested her to try her best to let him off the next life; and thegoddess’s heart was also moved at the severity of fate which would make her devotee pass through one more life in misery before he enjoyed the fruits of his devotion. So she devised the following plan to exculpate him from his two crimes at the same time, and thus replied:—

“Priest! ‘Intelligence can conquer even Fate,’ is the proverb. WhenKâligave 500 years’ life to Vikramâditya in his town, Bhatti, his minister, by making the king live six months in his capital and six months in the jungle, made his master’s life to last for 1000 years. So by intelligence we conquer our fate too, sometimes. So hear my advice. Ask the king who has come to murder you to hold one end of the knife, and request his minister to hold the other end. Ask both of them to aim the blow at your neck; that will accomplish everything complete during this life. They will have no revenge to take from you in your next life.”

So saying, the voice of the goddess stopped. The priest came back with a cheerful heart to the king and the minister, and asked them to oblige him by each of them holding one end of the knife and murdering him. They agreed, and performed thus their vow.The poor priest, too, without having another miserable life, was born a king in his next life, and lived in prosperity.

Here the story ends, and the story-teller in the Hindû household, and in my case my stepmother, would at once moralise, that if we did anything to any one in this life, that one would pay us out for it in our next life.

N.B.—I am led to think that this story does not contain a purely Hindû moral.

XXV.The Beggar and the Five Muffins.In a certain village there lived a poor beggar and his wife. The man used to go out every morning with a clean vessel in his hand, return home with rice enough for the day’s meal, and thus they lived on in extreme poverty.One day a poor MádhavaBrâhmiṇinvited the pair to a feast, and among Mádhavas muffins (tôśai) are always a part of the good things on festive occasions. So during the feast the beggar and his wife had their fill of muffins. They were so pleased with them, that the woman was extremely anxious to prepare some muffins in her own house, and began to save a little rice every day from what her husband brought her for the purpose. When enough had been thus collected she begged a poor neighbour’s wife to give her a little black pulse which the latter—praised be her charity—readily did. The faces of the beggar and his wife literally glowed with joy that day, for were they not to taste the long-desired muffins for a second time?The woman soon turned the rice she had been saving, and the black pulse she had obtained from her neighbour into a paste, and mixing it well with a little salt, green chillies, coriander seed and curds, set it in a pan on the fire; and with her mouth watering all the while, prepared five muffins! By the time her husband had returned from his collection of alms, she was just turning out of the pan the fifth muffin! And when she placed the whole five muffins before him his mouth, too, began to water. He kept two for himself and two he placed before his wife, but what was to be done with the fifth? He did not understand the way out of this difficulty. That half and half made one, and that each could take two and a half muffins was a question too hard for himtosolve. The beloved muffins must not be torn in pieces; so he said to his wife that either he or she must take the remaining one. But how were they to decide which should be the lucky one?Proposed the husband:—“Let us both shut our eyes and stretch ourselves as if in sleep, each on a verandah on either side the kitchen. Whoever opens an eye and speaks first gets only two muffins; and the other gets three.”So great was the desire of each to get the three muffins, that they both abided by the agreement, and the woman, though her mouth watered for the muffins, resolved to go through the ordeal. Sheplaced the five cakes in a pan and covered it over with another pan. She then carefully bolted the door inside and asking her husband to go into the east verandah, she lay down in the west one. Sleep she had none, and with closed eyes kept guard over her husband: for if he spoke first he would have only two muffins, and the other three would come to her share. Equally watchful was her husband over her.Thus passed one whole day—two—three! The house was never opened! No beggar came to receive the morning dole. The whole village began to enquire after the missing beggar. What had become of him? What had become of his wife?“See whether his house is locked on the outside and whether he has left us to go to some other village,” spoke the greyheads.So the village watchman came and tried to push the door open, but it would not open!“Surely,” said they, “it is locked on the inside! Some great calamity must have happened. Perhaps thieves have entered the house, and after plundering their property, murdered the inmates.”“But what property is a beggar likely to have?” thought the village assembly, and not liking to waste time in idle speculations, they sent two watchmen to climb the roof and open the latch from the inside.Meanwhile the whole village, men, women, and children, stood outside the beggar’s house to see whathad taken place inside. The watchmen jumped into the house, and to their horror found the beggar and his wife stretched on opposite verandahs like two corpses. They opened the door, and the whole village rushed in. They, too, saw the beggar and his wife lying so still that they thought them to be dead. And though the beggar pair had heard everything that passed around them, neither would open an eye or speak. For whoever did it first would get only two muffins!At the public expense of the village two green litters of bamboo and cocoanut leaves were prepared on which to remove the unfortunate pair to the cremation ground.“How loving they must have been to have died together like this!” said some greybeards of the village.In time the cremation ground was reached, and village watchmen had collected a score of dried cowdung cakes and a bundle of firewood from each house, for the funeral pyre. From these charitable contributionstwopyres had been prepared, one for the man and one for the woman. The pyre was then lighted, and when the fire approached his leg, the man thought it time to give up the ordeal and to be satisfied with only two muffins! So while the villagers were still continuing the funeral rites, they suddenly heard a voice:—“I shall be satisfied with two muffins!”Immediately another voice replied from the woman’s pyre:—“I have gained the day; let me have the three!”The villagers were amazed and ran away. One bold man alone stood face to face with the supposed dead husband and wife. He was a bold man, indeed for when a dead man or a man supposed to have died comes to life, village people consider him to be a ghost. However, this bold villager questioned the beggars until he came to know their story. He then went after the runaways and related to them the whole story of the five muffins to their great amazement.But what was to be done to the people who had thus voluntarily faced death out of love for muffins. Persons who had ascended the green litter and slept on the funeral pyre could never come back to the village! If they did the whole village would perish. So the elders built a small hut in a deserted meadow outside the village and made the beggar and his wife live there.Ever after that memorable day our hero and his wife were called the muffin beggar, and the muffin beggar’s wife, and many old ladies and young children from the village use to bring them muffins in the morning and evening, out of pity for them, for had they not loved muffin so much that they underwent death in life?

XXV.The Beggar and the Five Muffins.

In a certain village there lived a poor beggar and his wife. The man used to go out every morning with a clean vessel in his hand, return home with rice enough for the day’s meal, and thus they lived on in extreme poverty.One day a poor MádhavaBrâhmiṇinvited the pair to a feast, and among Mádhavas muffins (tôśai) are always a part of the good things on festive occasions. So during the feast the beggar and his wife had their fill of muffins. They were so pleased with them, that the woman was extremely anxious to prepare some muffins in her own house, and began to save a little rice every day from what her husband brought her for the purpose. When enough had been thus collected she begged a poor neighbour’s wife to give her a little black pulse which the latter—praised be her charity—readily did. The faces of the beggar and his wife literally glowed with joy that day, for were they not to taste the long-desired muffins for a second time?The woman soon turned the rice she had been saving, and the black pulse she had obtained from her neighbour into a paste, and mixing it well with a little salt, green chillies, coriander seed and curds, set it in a pan on the fire; and with her mouth watering all the while, prepared five muffins! By the time her husband had returned from his collection of alms, she was just turning out of the pan the fifth muffin! And when she placed the whole five muffins before him his mouth, too, began to water. He kept two for himself and two he placed before his wife, but what was to be done with the fifth? He did not understand the way out of this difficulty. That half and half made one, and that each could take two and a half muffins was a question too hard for himtosolve. The beloved muffins must not be torn in pieces; so he said to his wife that either he or she must take the remaining one. But how were they to decide which should be the lucky one?Proposed the husband:—“Let us both shut our eyes and stretch ourselves as if in sleep, each on a verandah on either side the kitchen. Whoever opens an eye and speaks first gets only two muffins; and the other gets three.”So great was the desire of each to get the three muffins, that they both abided by the agreement, and the woman, though her mouth watered for the muffins, resolved to go through the ordeal. Sheplaced the five cakes in a pan and covered it over with another pan. She then carefully bolted the door inside and asking her husband to go into the east verandah, she lay down in the west one. Sleep she had none, and with closed eyes kept guard over her husband: for if he spoke first he would have only two muffins, and the other three would come to her share. Equally watchful was her husband over her.Thus passed one whole day—two—three! The house was never opened! No beggar came to receive the morning dole. The whole village began to enquire after the missing beggar. What had become of him? What had become of his wife?“See whether his house is locked on the outside and whether he has left us to go to some other village,” spoke the greyheads.So the village watchman came and tried to push the door open, but it would not open!“Surely,” said they, “it is locked on the inside! Some great calamity must have happened. Perhaps thieves have entered the house, and after plundering their property, murdered the inmates.”“But what property is a beggar likely to have?” thought the village assembly, and not liking to waste time in idle speculations, they sent two watchmen to climb the roof and open the latch from the inside.Meanwhile the whole village, men, women, and children, stood outside the beggar’s house to see whathad taken place inside. The watchmen jumped into the house, and to their horror found the beggar and his wife stretched on opposite verandahs like two corpses. They opened the door, and the whole village rushed in. They, too, saw the beggar and his wife lying so still that they thought them to be dead. And though the beggar pair had heard everything that passed around them, neither would open an eye or speak. For whoever did it first would get only two muffins!At the public expense of the village two green litters of bamboo and cocoanut leaves were prepared on which to remove the unfortunate pair to the cremation ground.“How loving they must have been to have died together like this!” said some greybeards of the village.In time the cremation ground was reached, and village watchmen had collected a score of dried cowdung cakes and a bundle of firewood from each house, for the funeral pyre. From these charitable contributionstwopyres had been prepared, one for the man and one for the woman. The pyre was then lighted, and when the fire approached his leg, the man thought it time to give up the ordeal and to be satisfied with only two muffins! So while the villagers were still continuing the funeral rites, they suddenly heard a voice:—“I shall be satisfied with two muffins!”Immediately another voice replied from the woman’s pyre:—“I have gained the day; let me have the three!”The villagers were amazed and ran away. One bold man alone stood face to face with the supposed dead husband and wife. He was a bold man, indeed for when a dead man or a man supposed to have died comes to life, village people consider him to be a ghost. However, this bold villager questioned the beggars until he came to know their story. He then went after the runaways and related to them the whole story of the five muffins to their great amazement.But what was to be done to the people who had thus voluntarily faced death out of love for muffins. Persons who had ascended the green litter and slept on the funeral pyre could never come back to the village! If they did the whole village would perish. So the elders built a small hut in a deserted meadow outside the village and made the beggar and his wife live there.Ever after that memorable day our hero and his wife were called the muffin beggar, and the muffin beggar’s wife, and many old ladies and young children from the village use to bring them muffins in the morning and evening, out of pity for them, for had they not loved muffin so much that they underwent death in life?

In a certain village there lived a poor beggar and his wife. The man used to go out every morning with a clean vessel in his hand, return home with rice enough for the day’s meal, and thus they lived on in extreme poverty.

One day a poor MádhavaBrâhmiṇinvited the pair to a feast, and among Mádhavas muffins (tôśai) are always a part of the good things on festive occasions. So during the feast the beggar and his wife had their fill of muffins. They were so pleased with them, that the woman was extremely anxious to prepare some muffins in her own house, and began to save a little rice every day from what her husband brought her for the purpose. When enough had been thus collected she begged a poor neighbour’s wife to give her a little black pulse which the latter—praised be her charity—readily did. The faces of the beggar and his wife literally glowed with joy that day, for were they not to taste the long-desired muffins for a second time?

The woman soon turned the rice she had been saving, and the black pulse she had obtained from her neighbour into a paste, and mixing it well with a little salt, green chillies, coriander seed and curds, set it in a pan on the fire; and with her mouth watering all the while, prepared five muffins! By the time her husband had returned from his collection of alms, she was just turning out of the pan the fifth muffin! And when she placed the whole five muffins before him his mouth, too, began to water. He kept two for himself and two he placed before his wife, but what was to be done with the fifth? He did not understand the way out of this difficulty. That half and half made one, and that each could take two and a half muffins was a question too hard for himtosolve. The beloved muffins must not be torn in pieces; so he said to his wife that either he or she must take the remaining one. But how were they to decide which should be the lucky one?

Proposed the husband:—“Let us both shut our eyes and stretch ourselves as if in sleep, each on a verandah on either side the kitchen. Whoever opens an eye and speaks first gets only two muffins; and the other gets three.”

So great was the desire of each to get the three muffins, that they both abided by the agreement, and the woman, though her mouth watered for the muffins, resolved to go through the ordeal. Sheplaced the five cakes in a pan and covered it over with another pan. She then carefully bolted the door inside and asking her husband to go into the east verandah, she lay down in the west one. Sleep she had none, and with closed eyes kept guard over her husband: for if he spoke first he would have only two muffins, and the other three would come to her share. Equally watchful was her husband over her.

Thus passed one whole day—two—three! The house was never opened! No beggar came to receive the morning dole. The whole village began to enquire after the missing beggar. What had become of him? What had become of his wife?

“See whether his house is locked on the outside and whether he has left us to go to some other village,” spoke the greyheads.

So the village watchman came and tried to push the door open, but it would not open!

“Surely,” said they, “it is locked on the inside! Some great calamity must have happened. Perhaps thieves have entered the house, and after plundering their property, murdered the inmates.”

“But what property is a beggar likely to have?” thought the village assembly, and not liking to waste time in idle speculations, they sent two watchmen to climb the roof and open the latch from the inside.

Meanwhile the whole village, men, women, and children, stood outside the beggar’s house to see whathad taken place inside. The watchmen jumped into the house, and to their horror found the beggar and his wife stretched on opposite verandahs like two corpses. They opened the door, and the whole village rushed in. They, too, saw the beggar and his wife lying so still that they thought them to be dead. And though the beggar pair had heard everything that passed around them, neither would open an eye or speak. For whoever did it first would get only two muffins!

At the public expense of the village two green litters of bamboo and cocoanut leaves were prepared on which to remove the unfortunate pair to the cremation ground.

“How loving they must have been to have died together like this!” said some greybeards of the village.

In time the cremation ground was reached, and village watchmen had collected a score of dried cowdung cakes and a bundle of firewood from each house, for the funeral pyre. From these charitable contributionstwopyres had been prepared, one for the man and one for the woman. The pyre was then lighted, and when the fire approached his leg, the man thought it time to give up the ordeal and to be satisfied with only two muffins! So while the villagers were still continuing the funeral rites, they suddenly heard a voice:—

“I shall be satisfied with two muffins!”

Immediately another voice replied from the woman’s pyre:—

“I have gained the day; let me have the three!”

The villagers were amazed and ran away. One bold man alone stood face to face with the supposed dead husband and wife. He was a bold man, indeed for when a dead man or a man supposed to have died comes to life, village people consider him to be a ghost. However, this bold villager questioned the beggars until he came to know their story. He then went after the runaways and related to them the whole story of the five muffins to their great amazement.

But what was to be done to the people who had thus voluntarily faced death out of love for muffins. Persons who had ascended the green litter and slept on the funeral pyre could never come back to the village! If they did the whole village would perish. So the elders built a small hut in a deserted meadow outside the village and made the beggar and his wife live there.

Ever after that memorable day our hero and his wife were called the muffin beggar, and the muffin beggar’s wife, and many old ladies and young children from the village use to bring them muffins in the morning and evening, out of pity for them, for had they not loved muffin so much that they underwent death in life?

XXVI.The Brahmarâkshas and the Hair.In a certain village there lived a very rich landlord, who owned several villages, but was such a great miser that no tenant would willingly cultivate his lands, and those he had gave him not a little trouble. He was indeed so vexed with them that he left all his lands untilled, and his tanks and irrigation channels dried up. All this, of course, made him poorer and poorer day by day. Nevertheless he never liked the idea of freely opening his purse to his tenants and obtaining their good will.While he was in this frame of mind a learnedSanyâsipaid him a visit, and on his representing his case to him, he said:—“My dear son,—I know an incantation (mantra) in which I can instruct you. If you repeat it for three months day and night, a Brahmarâkshas will appear before you on the first day of the fourth month. Make him your servant, and then you can set at naught all your petty troubles with yourtenants. The Brahmarâkshas will obey all your orders, and you will find him equal to one hundred servants.”Our hero fell at his feet and begged to be instructed at once. The sage then sat facing the east and his disciple the landlord facing the west, and in this position formal instruction was given, after which theSanyâsiwent his way.The landlord, mightily pleased at what he had learnt, went on practising the incantation, till, on the first day of the fourth month, the great Brahmarâkshas stood before him.“What do you want, sir, from my hands?” said he; “what is the object of your having propitiated me for these three months?”The landlord was thunderstruck at the huge monster who now stood before him and still more so at his terrible voice, but nevertheless he said:—“I want you to become my servant and obey all my commands.”“Agreed,” answered the Brahmarâkshas in a very mild tone, for it was his duty to leave off his impertinent ways when any one who had performed the required penance wanted him to become his servant; “Agreed. But you must always give me work to do; when one job is finished you must at once give me a second, and so on. If you fail I shall kill you.”The landlord, thinking that he would have workfor several such Brahmarâkshasas, was pleased to see that his demoniacal servant was so eager to help him. He at once took him to a big tank which had been dried up for several years, and pointing it out spoke as follows:—“You see this big tank; you must make it as deep as the height of two palmyra trees and repair the embankment wherever it is broken.”“Yes, my master, your orders shall be obeyed,” humbly replied the servant and fell to work.The landlord, thinking that it would take several months, if not years, to do the work in the tank, for it was twokoslong and onekosbroad, returned delighted to his home, where his people were awaiting him with a sumptuous dinner. When enemies were approaching the Brahmarâkshas came to inform his master that he had finished his work in the tank. He was indeed astonished and feared for his own life!“What! finished the work in one day which I thought would occupy him for months and years; if he goes on at this rate, how shall I keep him employed. And when I cannot find it for him he will kill me!” Thus he thought and began to weep; his wife wiped the tears that ran down his face, and said:—“My dearest husband, you must not lose courage. Get out of the Brahmarâkshas all the work you canand then let me know. I’ll give him something that will keep him engaged for a very very long time, and then he’ll trouble us no more.”But her husband only thought her words to be meaningless and followed the Brahmarâkshas to see what he had done. Sure enough the thing was as complete as could be, so he asked him to ploughallhis lands, which extended over twenty villages! This was done in twoghaṭikâs! He next made him dig and cultivateallhis garden lands. This was done in the twinkling of an eye! The landlord now grew hopeless.“What more work have you for me?” roared the Brahmarâkshas, as he found that his master had nothing for him to do, and that the time for his eating him up was approaching.“My dear friend,” said he, “my wife says she has a little job to give you; do it please now. I think that that is the last thing I can give you to do, and after it in obedience to the conditions under which you took service with me, I must become your prey!”At this moment his wife came to them, holding in her left hand a long hair, which she had just pulled out from her head, and said:—“Well, Brahmarâkshas, I have only a very light job for you. Take this hair, and when you have made it straight, bring it back to me.”The Brahmarâkshas calmly took it, and sat in apîpaltree to make it straight. He rolled it several times on his thigh and lifted it up to see if it became straight; but no, it would still bend! Just then it occurred to him that goldsmiths, when they want to make their metal wires straight, have them heated in fire; so he went to a fire and placed the hair over it, and of course it frizzled up with a nasty smell! He was horrified!“What will my master’s wife say if I do not produce the hair she gave me?”So he became mightily afraid, and ran away.This story is told to explain the modern custom of nailing a handful of hair to a tree in which devils are supposed to dwell, to drive them away.

XXVI.The Brahmarâkshas and the Hair.

In a certain village there lived a very rich landlord, who owned several villages, but was such a great miser that no tenant would willingly cultivate his lands, and those he had gave him not a little trouble. He was indeed so vexed with them that he left all his lands untilled, and his tanks and irrigation channels dried up. All this, of course, made him poorer and poorer day by day. Nevertheless he never liked the idea of freely opening his purse to his tenants and obtaining their good will.While he was in this frame of mind a learnedSanyâsipaid him a visit, and on his representing his case to him, he said:—“My dear son,—I know an incantation (mantra) in which I can instruct you. If you repeat it for three months day and night, a Brahmarâkshas will appear before you on the first day of the fourth month. Make him your servant, and then you can set at naught all your petty troubles with yourtenants. The Brahmarâkshas will obey all your orders, and you will find him equal to one hundred servants.”Our hero fell at his feet and begged to be instructed at once. The sage then sat facing the east and his disciple the landlord facing the west, and in this position formal instruction was given, after which theSanyâsiwent his way.The landlord, mightily pleased at what he had learnt, went on practising the incantation, till, on the first day of the fourth month, the great Brahmarâkshas stood before him.“What do you want, sir, from my hands?” said he; “what is the object of your having propitiated me for these three months?”The landlord was thunderstruck at the huge monster who now stood before him and still more so at his terrible voice, but nevertheless he said:—“I want you to become my servant and obey all my commands.”“Agreed,” answered the Brahmarâkshas in a very mild tone, for it was his duty to leave off his impertinent ways when any one who had performed the required penance wanted him to become his servant; “Agreed. But you must always give me work to do; when one job is finished you must at once give me a second, and so on. If you fail I shall kill you.”The landlord, thinking that he would have workfor several such Brahmarâkshasas, was pleased to see that his demoniacal servant was so eager to help him. He at once took him to a big tank which had been dried up for several years, and pointing it out spoke as follows:—“You see this big tank; you must make it as deep as the height of two palmyra trees and repair the embankment wherever it is broken.”“Yes, my master, your orders shall be obeyed,” humbly replied the servant and fell to work.The landlord, thinking that it would take several months, if not years, to do the work in the tank, for it was twokoslong and onekosbroad, returned delighted to his home, where his people were awaiting him with a sumptuous dinner. When enemies were approaching the Brahmarâkshas came to inform his master that he had finished his work in the tank. He was indeed astonished and feared for his own life!“What! finished the work in one day which I thought would occupy him for months and years; if he goes on at this rate, how shall I keep him employed. And when I cannot find it for him he will kill me!” Thus he thought and began to weep; his wife wiped the tears that ran down his face, and said:—“My dearest husband, you must not lose courage. Get out of the Brahmarâkshas all the work you canand then let me know. I’ll give him something that will keep him engaged for a very very long time, and then he’ll trouble us no more.”But her husband only thought her words to be meaningless and followed the Brahmarâkshas to see what he had done. Sure enough the thing was as complete as could be, so he asked him to ploughallhis lands, which extended over twenty villages! This was done in twoghaṭikâs! He next made him dig and cultivateallhis garden lands. This was done in the twinkling of an eye! The landlord now grew hopeless.“What more work have you for me?” roared the Brahmarâkshas, as he found that his master had nothing for him to do, and that the time for his eating him up was approaching.“My dear friend,” said he, “my wife says she has a little job to give you; do it please now. I think that that is the last thing I can give you to do, and after it in obedience to the conditions under which you took service with me, I must become your prey!”At this moment his wife came to them, holding in her left hand a long hair, which she had just pulled out from her head, and said:—“Well, Brahmarâkshas, I have only a very light job for you. Take this hair, and when you have made it straight, bring it back to me.”The Brahmarâkshas calmly took it, and sat in apîpaltree to make it straight. He rolled it several times on his thigh and lifted it up to see if it became straight; but no, it would still bend! Just then it occurred to him that goldsmiths, when they want to make their metal wires straight, have them heated in fire; so he went to a fire and placed the hair over it, and of course it frizzled up with a nasty smell! He was horrified!“What will my master’s wife say if I do not produce the hair she gave me?”So he became mightily afraid, and ran away.This story is told to explain the modern custom of nailing a handful of hair to a tree in which devils are supposed to dwell, to drive them away.

In a certain village there lived a very rich landlord, who owned several villages, but was such a great miser that no tenant would willingly cultivate his lands, and those he had gave him not a little trouble. He was indeed so vexed with them that he left all his lands untilled, and his tanks and irrigation channels dried up. All this, of course, made him poorer and poorer day by day. Nevertheless he never liked the idea of freely opening his purse to his tenants and obtaining their good will.

While he was in this frame of mind a learnedSanyâsipaid him a visit, and on his representing his case to him, he said:—

“My dear son,—I know an incantation (mantra) in which I can instruct you. If you repeat it for three months day and night, a Brahmarâkshas will appear before you on the first day of the fourth month. Make him your servant, and then you can set at naught all your petty troubles with yourtenants. The Brahmarâkshas will obey all your orders, and you will find him equal to one hundred servants.”

Our hero fell at his feet and begged to be instructed at once. The sage then sat facing the east and his disciple the landlord facing the west, and in this position formal instruction was given, after which theSanyâsiwent his way.

The landlord, mightily pleased at what he had learnt, went on practising the incantation, till, on the first day of the fourth month, the great Brahmarâkshas stood before him.

“What do you want, sir, from my hands?” said he; “what is the object of your having propitiated me for these three months?”

The landlord was thunderstruck at the huge monster who now stood before him and still more so at his terrible voice, but nevertheless he said:—

“I want you to become my servant and obey all my commands.”

“Agreed,” answered the Brahmarâkshas in a very mild tone, for it was his duty to leave off his impertinent ways when any one who had performed the required penance wanted him to become his servant; “Agreed. But you must always give me work to do; when one job is finished you must at once give me a second, and so on. If you fail I shall kill you.”

The landlord, thinking that he would have workfor several such Brahmarâkshasas, was pleased to see that his demoniacal servant was so eager to help him. He at once took him to a big tank which had been dried up for several years, and pointing it out spoke as follows:—

“You see this big tank; you must make it as deep as the height of two palmyra trees and repair the embankment wherever it is broken.”

“Yes, my master, your orders shall be obeyed,” humbly replied the servant and fell to work.

The landlord, thinking that it would take several months, if not years, to do the work in the tank, for it was twokoslong and onekosbroad, returned delighted to his home, where his people were awaiting him with a sumptuous dinner. When enemies were approaching the Brahmarâkshas came to inform his master that he had finished his work in the tank. He was indeed astonished and feared for his own life!

“What! finished the work in one day which I thought would occupy him for months and years; if he goes on at this rate, how shall I keep him employed. And when I cannot find it for him he will kill me!” Thus he thought and began to weep; his wife wiped the tears that ran down his face, and said:—

“My dearest husband, you must not lose courage. Get out of the Brahmarâkshas all the work you canand then let me know. I’ll give him something that will keep him engaged for a very very long time, and then he’ll trouble us no more.”

But her husband only thought her words to be meaningless and followed the Brahmarâkshas to see what he had done. Sure enough the thing was as complete as could be, so he asked him to ploughallhis lands, which extended over twenty villages! This was done in twoghaṭikâs! He next made him dig and cultivateallhis garden lands. This was done in the twinkling of an eye! The landlord now grew hopeless.

“What more work have you for me?” roared the Brahmarâkshas, as he found that his master had nothing for him to do, and that the time for his eating him up was approaching.

“My dear friend,” said he, “my wife says she has a little job to give you; do it please now. I think that that is the last thing I can give you to do, and after it in obedience to the conditions under which you took service with me, I must become your prey!”

At this moment his wife came to them, holding in her left hand a long hair, which she had just pulled out from her head, and said:—

“Well, Brahmarâkshas, I have only a very light job for you. Take this hair, and when you have made it straight, bring it back to me.”

The Brahmarâkshas calmly took it, and sat in apîpaltree to make it straight. He rolled it several times on his thigh and lifted it up to see if it became straight; but no, it would still bend! Just then it occurred to him that goldsmiths, when they want to make their metal wires straight, have them heated in fire; so he went to a fire and placed the hair over it, and of course it frizzled up with a nasty smell! He was horrified!

“What will my master’s wife say if I do not produce the hair she gave me?”

So he became mightily afraid, and ran away.

This story is told to explain the modern custom of nailing a handful of hair to a tree in which devils are supposed to dwell, to drive them away.

Back to IndexNext