Indian Fairy Tales (14 page)

And when he had arrived at that conclusion, he asked that charioteer
what the age of the king of Kosala was. But on inquiry he found that
the ages of both were equal. Then he inquired about the extent of his
kingdom, and about his army, and his wealth, and his renown, and about
the country he lived in, and his caste and tribe and family. And he
found that both were lords of a kingdom three hundred leagues in
extent; and that in respect of army and wealth and renown, and the
countries in which they lived, and their caste and their tribe and
their family, they were just on a par!

Then he thought, "I will make way for the most righteous." And he
asked, "What kind of righteousness has this king of yours?"

Then the chorister of the king of Kosala, proclaiming his king's
wickedness as goodness, uttered the First Stanza:

"The strong he overthrows by strength,
The mild by mildness, does Mallika;
The good he conquers by goodness,
And the wicked by wickedness too.
Such is the nature of
this
king!
Move out of the way, O charioteer!"

But the charioteer of the king of Benares asked him, "Well, have you
told all the virtues of your king?"

"Yes," said the other.

"If these are his
virtues
, where are then his faults?" replied
he.

The other said, "Well, for the nonce, they shall be faults, if you
like! But pray, then, what is the kind of goodness your king has?"

And then the charioteer of the king of Benares called unto him to
hearken, and uttered the Second Stanza

"Anger he conquers by calmness,
And by goodness the wicked;
The stingy he conquers by gifts,
And by truth the speaker of lies.
Such is the nature of
this
king!
Move out of the way, O charioteer!"

And when he had thus spoken, both Mallika the king and his charioteer
alighted from their chariot. And they took out the horses, and removed
their chariot, and made way for the king of Benares!

In a certain village there lived ten cloth merchants, who always went
about together. Once upon a time they had travelled far afield, and
were returning home with a great deal of money which they had obtained
by selling their wares. Now there happened to be a dense forest near
their village, and this they reached early one morning. In it there
lived three notorious robbers, of whose existence the traders had never
heard, and while they were still in the middle of it the robbers stood
before them, with swords and cudgels in their hands, and ordered them
to lay down all they had. The traders had no weapons with them, and so,
though they were many more in number, they had to submit themselves to
the robbers, who took away everything from them, even the very clothes
they wore, and gave to each only a small loin-cloth a span in breadth
and a cubit in length.

The idea that they had conquered ten men and plundered all their
property, now took possession of the robbers' minds. They seated
themselves like three monarchs before the men they had plundered, and
ordered them to dance to them before returning home. The merchants now
mourned their fate. They had lost all they had, except their loin-
cloth, and still the robbers were not satisfied, but ordered them to
dance.

There was, among the ten merchants, one who was very clever. He
pondered over the calamity that had come upon him and his friends, the
dance they would have to perform, and the magnificent manner in which
the three robbers had seated themselves on the grass. At the same time
he observed that these last had placed their weapons on the ground, in
the assurance of having thoroughly cowed the traders, who were now
commencing to dance. So he took the lead in the dance, and, as a song
is always sung by the leader on such occasions, to which the rest keep
time with hands and feet, he thus began to sing:

"We are enty men,
They are erith men:
If each erith man, Surround eno men
Eno man remains.
Tâ, tai, tôm, tadingana.
"

The robbers were all uneducated, and thought that the leader was merely
singing a song as usual. So it was in one sense; for the leader
commenced from a distance, and had sung the song over twice before he
and his companions commenced to approach the robbers. They had
understood his meaning, because they had been trained in trade.

When two traders discuss the price of an article in the presence of a
purchaser, they use a riddling sort of language.

"What is the price of this cloth?" one trader will ask another.

"Enty rupees," another will reply, meaning "ten rupees."

Thus, there is no possibility of the purchaser knowing what is meant
unless he be acquainted with trade language. By the rules of this
secret language erith means "three," enty means "ten," and eno means
"one." So the leader by his song meant to hint to his fellow-traders
that they were ten men, the robbers only three, that if three pounced
upon each of the robbers, nine of them could hold them down, while the
remaining one bound the robbers' hands and feet.

The three thieves, glorying in their victory, and little understanding
the meaning of the song and the intentions of the dancers, were proudly
seated chewing betel and tobacco. Meanwhile the song was sung a third
time.
Tâ tai tôm
had left the lips of the singer; and, before
tadingana
was out of them, the traders separated into parties of
three, and each party pounced upon a thief. The remaining one—the
leader himself—tore up into long narrow strips a large piece of cloth,
six cubits long, and tied the hands and feet of the robbers. These were
entirely humbled now, and rolled on the ground like three bags of rice!

The ten traders now took back all their property, and armed themselves
with the swords and cudgels of their enemies; and when they reached
their village, they often amused their friends and relatives by
relating their adventure.

Once there lived a great Raja, whose name was Salabhan, and he had a
Queen, by name Lona, who, though she wept and prayed at many a shrine,
had never a child to gladden her eyes. After a long time, however, a
son was promised to her.

Queen Lona returned to the palace, and when the time for the birth of
the promised son drew nigh, she inquired of three Jogis who came
begging to her gate, what the child's fate would be, and the youngest
of them answered and said, "Oh, Queen! the child will be a boy, and he
will live to be a great man. But for twelve years you must not look
upon his face, for if either you or his father see it before the twelve
years are past, you will surely die! This is what you must do; as soon
as the child is born you must send him away to a cellar underneath the
ground, and never let him see the light of day for twelve years. After
they are over, he may come forth, bathe in the river, put on new
clothes, and visit you. His name shall be Raja Rasalu, and he shall be
known far and wide."

So, when a fair young Prince was in due time born into the world, his
parents hid him away in an underground palace, with nurses, and
servants, and everything else a King's son might desire. And with him
they sent a young colt, born the same day, and sword, spear, and
shield, against the day when Raja Rasalu should go forth into the
world.

So there the child lived, playing with his colt, and talking to his
parrot, while the nurses taught him all things needful for a King's son
to know.

Young Rasalu lived on, far from the light of day, for eleven long
years, growing tall and strong, yet contented to remain playing with
his colt, and talking to his parrot; but when the twelfth year began,
the lad's heart leapt up with desire for change, and he loved to listen
to the sounds of life which came to him in his palace-prison from the
outside world.

"I must go and see where the voices come from!" he said; and when his
nurses told him he must not go for one year more, he only laughed
aloud, saying, "Nay! I stay no longer here for any man!"

Then he saddled his Arab horse Bhaunr, put on his shining armour, and
rode forth into the world; but mindful of what his nurses had oft told
him, when he came to the river, he dismounted, and, going into the
water, washed himself and his clothes.

Then, clean of raiment, fair of face, and brave of heart, he rode on
his way until he reached his father's city. There he sat down to rest
awhile by a well, where the women were drawing water in earthen
pitchers. Now, as they passed him, their full pitchers poised upon
their heads, the gay young Prince flung stones at the earthen vessels,
and broke them all. Then the women, drenched with water, went weeping
and wailing to the palace, complaining to the King that a mighty young
Prince in shining armour, with a parrot on his wrist and a gallant
steed beside him, sat by the well, and broke their pitchers.

Now, as soon as Rajah Salabhan heard this, he guessed at once that it
was Prince Rasalu come forth before the time, and, mindful of the
Jogis' words that he would die if he looked on his son's face before
twelve years were past, he did not dare to send his guards to seize the
offender and bring him to be judged. So he bade the women be comforted,
and take pitchers of iron and brass, giving new ones from his treasury
to those who did not possess any of their own.

But when Prince Rasalu saw the women returning to the well with
pitchers of iron and brass, he laughed to himself, and drew his mighty
bow till the sharp-pointed arrows pierced the metal vessels as though
they had been clay.

Yet still the King did not send for him, so he mounted his steed and
set off in the pride of his youth and strength to the palace. He strode
into the audience hall, where his father sat trembling, and saluted him
will all reverence; but Raja Salabhan, in fear of his life, turned his
back hastily and said never a word in reply.

Then Prince Rasalu called scornfully to him across the hall:

"I came to greet thee, King, and not to harm thee!
What have I done that thou shouldst turn away?
Sceptre and empire have no power to charm me—
I go to seek a worthier prize than they!"

Then he strode away, full of bitterness and anger; but, as he passed
under the palace windows, he heard his mother weeping, and the sound
softened his heart, so that his wrath died down, and a great loneliness
fell upon him, because he was spurned by both father and mother. So he
cried sorrowfully,

"Oh heart crown'd with grief, hast thou nought
But tears for thy son?
Art mother of mine? Give one thought
To my life just begun!"

And Queen Lona answered through her tears:

"Yea! mother am I, though I weep,
So hold this word sure,—
Go, reign king of all men, but keep
Thy heart good and pure!"

So Raja Rasalu was comforted, and began to make ready for fortune. He
took with him his horse Bhaunr and his parrot, both of whom had lived
with him since he was born.

So they made a goodly company, and Queen Lona, when she saw them going,
watched them from her window till she saw nothing but a cloud of dust
on the horizon; then she bowed her head on her hands and wept, saying:

"Oh! son who ne'er gladdened mine eyes,
Let the cloud of thy going arise,
Dim the sunlight and darken the day;
For the mother whose son is away
Is as dust!"

Rasalu had started off to play chaupur with King Sarkap. And as he
journeyed there came a fierce storm of thunder and lightning, so that
he sought shelter, and found none save an old graveyard, where a
headless corpse lay upon the ground. So lonesome was it that even the
corpse seemed company, and Rasalu, sitting down beside it, said:

"There is no one here, nor far nor near,
Save this breathless corpse so cold and grim;
Would God he might come to life again,
'Twould be less lonely to talk to him."

And immediately the headless corpse arose and sat beside Raja Rasalu.
And he, nothing astonished, said to it:

"The storm beats fierce and loud,
The clouds rise thick in the west;
What ails thy grave and shroud,
Oh corpse! that thou canst not rest?"

Then the headless corpse replied:

"On earth I was even as thou,
My turban awry like a king,
My head with the highest, I trow,
Having my fun and my fling,
Fighting my foes like a brave,
Living my life with a swing.
And, now I am dead,
Sins, heavy as lead,
Will give me no rest in my grave!"

So the night passed on, dark and dreary, while Rasalu sat in the
graveyard and talked to the headless corpse. Now when morning broke and
Rasalu said he must continue his journey, the headless corpse asked him
whither he was going, and when he said "to play chaupur with King
Sarkap," the corpse begged him to give up the idea saying, "I am King
Sarkap's brother, and I know his ways. Every day, before breakfast, he
cuts off the heads of two or three men, just to amuse himself. One day
no one else was at hand, so he cut off mine, and he will surely cut off
yours on some pretence or another. However, if you are determined to go
and play chaupur with him, take some of the bones from this graveyard,
and make your dice out of them, and then the enchanted dice with which
my brother plays will lose their virtue. Otherwise he will always win."

So Rasalu took some of the bones lying about, and fashioned them into
dice, and these he put into his pocket. Then, bidding adieu to the
headless corpse, he went on his way to play chaupur with the King.

Now, as Raja Rasalu, tender-hearted and strong, journeyed along to play
chaupur with the King, he came to a burning forest, and a voice rose
from the fire saying, "Oh, traveller! for God's sake save me from the
fire!"

Then the Prince turned towards the burning forest, and, lo! the voice
was the voice of a tiny cricket. Nevertheless, Rasalu, tender-hearted
and strong, snatched it from the fire and set it at liberty. Then the
little creature, full of gratitude, pulled out one of its feelers, and
giving it to its preserver, said, "Keep this, and should you ever be in
trouble, put it into the fire, and instantly I will come to your aid."