Hindu Tales from the Sanskrit

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

Thanks to Mr. S. M. Mitra, the well-known Hindu psychologist and politician,
who has done so much to draw more closely together the land of his birth and
that of his adoption, I am able to bring within reach of English children a
number of typical Hindu Tales, translated by him from the Sanskrit, some of
them culled from the ancient classics of India, others from widely separated
sources. The latter have hitherto been quite inaccessible to western students,
as they are not yet embodied in literature, but have been transmitted orally
from generation to generation for many centuries.

These tales are not only of a kind to enchain the attention of children. They
also illustrate well the close affinity between the two chief branches of the
great Aryan race, and are of considerable ethical value, reflecting, as they
do, the philosophy of self-realisation which lies at the root of Hindu culture.
They have been used from time immemorial by the best teachers of India as a
means of building up the personalities of the young and maintaining the
efficiency of the adult. They serve in fact as text-books of the unique system
of Mind-Training which has been in use in India from remote Vedic times, the
root principle of which is as simple as it is effective.

Hindu children become familiar at their mothers’ knees with these
stories, and are trained to answer questions on them, subtly chosen to suit
their ages and call into action their mental faculties. Appealing to them as an
amusing game, in which they vie with each other in trying to solve the problems
presented for their consideration, the boys and girls, who are educated
together till they are ten or twelve years old, early learn to concentrate
their attention; whilst the simultaneous development of all their powers is
encouraged and they are, imperceptibly to themselves led to control their
thoughts and emotions from within, instead of having to obey orders which they
do not understand from without. They realize indeed, whilst still in the
nursery, the ideal suggested by the sage Vidura in the Mahabharata: “Seek
to know thyself by means of thyself, keeping thy mind, intellect and senses,
under control; for self is thy friend as it is also thy foe.”

Nancy Bell.

Southbourne-on-Sea, 1918.

I.
The Magic Pitcher.

CHAPTER I

Long, long ago there lived far away in India a woodcutter called Subha Datta
and his family, who were all very happy together. The father went every day to
the forest near his home to get supplies of wood, which he sold to his
neighbours, earning by that means quite enough to give his wife and children
all that they needed. Sometimes he took his three boys with him, and now and
then, as a special treat, his two little girls were allowed to trot along
beside him. The boys longed to be allowed to chop wood for themselves, and
their father told them that as soon as they were old enough he would give each
of them a little axe of his own. The girls, he said, must be content with
breaking off small twigs from the branches he cut down, for he did not wish
them to chop their own fingers off. This will show you what a kind father he
was, and you will be very sorry for him when you hear about his troubles.

All went well with Subha Datta for a long time. Each of the boys had his own
little axe at last, and each of the girls had a little pair of scissors to cut
off twigs; and very proud they all were when they brought some wood home to
their mother to use in the house. One day, however, their father told them they
could none of them come with him, for he meant to go a very long way into the
forest, to see if he could find better wood there than nearer home. Vainly the
boys entreated him to take them with him. “Not to-day,” he said,
“you would be too tired to go all the way, and would lose yourselves
coming back alone. You must help your mother to-day and play with your
sisters.” They had to be content, for although Hindu children are as fond
of asking questions as English boys and girls, they are very obedient to their
parents and do all they are told without making any fuss about it.

Of course, they expected their father would come back the day he started for
the depths of the forest, although they knew he would be late. What then was
their surprise when darkness came and there was no sign of him! Again and again
their mother went to the door to look for him, expecting every moment to see
him coming along the beaten path which led to their door. Again and again she
mistook the cry of some night-bird for his voice calling to her. She was
obliged at last to go to bed with a heavy heart, fearing some wild beast had
killed him and that she would never see him again.

1. What do you think had become of Subha Datta?

2. What would you have done when he did not come back?

CHAPTER II

When Subha Datta started for the forest, he fully intended to come back the
same evening; but as he was busy cutting down a tree, he suddenly had a feeling
that he was no longer alone. He looked up, and there, quite close to him, in a
little clearing where the trees had been cut down by some other woodcutter, he
saw four beautiful young girls looking like fairies in their thin summer
dresses and with their long hair flowing down their backs, dancing round and
round, holding each other’s hands. Subha Datta was so astonished at the
sight that he let his axe fall, and the noise startled the dancers, who all
four stood still and stared at him.

The woodcutter could not say a word, but just gazed and gazed at them, till one
of them said to him: “Who are you, and what are you doing in the very
depths of the forest where we have never before seen a man?”

“I am only a poor woodcutter,” he replied, “come to get some
wood to sell, so as to give my wife and children something to eat and some
clothes to wear.”

“That is a very stupid thing to do,” said one of the girls.
“You can’t get much money that way. If you will only stop with us
we will have your wife and children looked after for you much better than you
can do it yourself.”

3. What would you have said if you had been the woodcutter?

4. Do you think the fairies really meant that they could do as they offered?

CHAPTER III

Subha Datta, though he certainly did love his wife and children, was so tempted
at the idea of stopping in the forest with the beautiful girls that, after
hesitating a little while, he said, “Yes, I will stop with you, if you
are quite sure all will be well with my dear ones.”

“You need not be afraid about that,” said another of the girls.
“We are fairies, you see, and we can do all sorts of wonderful things. It
isn’t even necessary for us to go where your dear ones are. We shall just
wish them everything they want, and they will get it. And the first thing to be
done is to give you some food. You must work for us in return, of
course.”

Subha Datta at once replied, “I will do anything you wish.”

“Well, begin by sweeping away all the dead leaves from the clearing, and
then we will all sit down and eat together.”

Subha Datta was very glad that what he was asked to do was so easy. He began by
cutting a branch from a tree, and with it he swept the floor of what was to be
the dining-room. Then he looked about for the food, but he could see nothing
but a great big pitcher standing in the shade of a tree, the branches of which
hung over the clearing. So he said to one of the fairies, “Will you show
me where the food is, and exactly where you would like me to set it out?”

At these questions all the fairies began to laugh, and the sound of their
laughter was like the tinkling of a number of bells.

5. What was there to laugh at in the questions of Subha Datta?

6. What is your idea of a fairy?

CHAPTER IV

When the fairies saw how astonished Subha Datta was at the way they laughed, it
made them laugh still more, and they seized each other’s hands again and
whirled round and round, laughing all the time.

Poor Subha Datta, who was very tired and hungry, began to get unhappy and to
wish he had gone straight home after all. He stooped down to pick up his axe,
and was just about to turn away with it, when the fairies stopped their mad
whirl and cried to him to stop. So he waited, and one of them said:

“We don’t have to bother about fetching this and fetching
that. You see that big pitcher. Well, we get all our food and everything else
we want out of it. We just have to wish as we put our hands in, and there it
is. It’s a magic pitcher—the only one there is in the whole wide
world. You get the food you would like to have first, and then we’ll tell
you what we want.”

Subha Datta could hardly believe his ears when he heard that. Down he threw his
axe, and hastened to put his hand in the pitcher, wishing for the food he was
used to. He loved curried rice and milk, lentils, fruit and vegetables, and
very soon he had a beautiful meal spread out for himself on the ground. Then
the fairies called out, one after the other, what they wanted for food, things
the woodcutter had never heard of or seen, which made him quite discontented
with what he had chosen for himself.

7. What would you have wished for if you had had a magic pitcher?

8. Would it be a good thing, do you think, to be able to get food without
working for it or paying for it?

CHAPTER V

The next few days passed away like a dream, and at first Subha Datta thought he
had never been so happy in his life. The fairies often went off together
leaving him alone, only coming back to the clearing when they wanted something
out of the pitcher. The woodcutter got all kinds of things he fancied for
himself, but presently he began to wish he had his wife and children with him
to share his wonderful meals. He began to miss them terribly, and he missed his
work too. It was no good cutting trees down and chopping up wood when all the
food was ready cooked. Sometimes he thought he would slip off home when the
fairies were away, but when he looked at the pitcher he could not bear the
thought of leaving it.

9. What sort of man do you think Subha Datta was from what this story tells you
about him?

10. What do you think was the chief cause of his becoming discontented after he
had been in the service of the fairies for a few days?

CHAPTER VI

Soon Subha Datta could not sleep well for thinking of the wife and children he
had deserted. Suppose they were hungry when he had plenty to eat! It even came
into his head that he might steal the pitcher and take it home with him when
the fairies were away. But he had not after all the courage to do this; for
even when the beautiful girls were not in sight, he had a feeling that they
would know if he tried to go off with the pitcher, and that they would be able
to punish him in some terrible way. One night he had a dream that troubled him
very much. He saw his wife sitting crying bitterly in the little home he used
to love, holding the youngest child on her knee whilst the other three stood
beside her looking at her very, very sadly. He started up from the ground on
which he lay, determined to go home at once; but at a little distance off he
saw the fairies dancing in the moonlight, and somehow he felt again he could
not leave them and the pitcher. The next day, however, he was so miserable that
the fairies noticed it, and one of them said to him: “Whatever is the
matter? We don’t care to keep unhappy people here. If you can’t
enjoy life as we do, you had better go home.”

Then Subha Datta was very much frightened lest they should really send him
away; so he told them about his dream and that he was afraid his dear ones were
starving for want of the money he used to earn for them.

“Don’t worry about them,” was the reply: “we will let
your wife know what keeps you away. We will whisper in her ear when she is
asleep, and she will be so glad to think of your happiness that she will forget
her own troubles.”

11. Do you think what the fairies said to the woodcutter was likely to comfort
him about his wife and children?

12. If you had been in Subha Datta’s place what would you have said to
the fairies when they made this promise?

CHAPTER VII

Subha Datta was very much cheered by the sympathy of the fairies, so much so
that he decided to stop with them for a little longer at least. Now and then he
felt restless, but on the whole the time passed pleasantly, and the pitcher was
a daily delight to him.

Meanwhile his poor wife was at her wits’ end how to feed her dear
children. If it had not been that the two boys were brave, plucky little chaps,
she really would have been in despair. When their father did not come back and
all their efforts to find him were in vain, these boys set to work to help
their mother. They could not cut down trees, but they could climb them and chop
off small branches with their axes; and this they did, making up bundles of
faggots and selling them to their neighbours. These neighbours were touched by
the courage they showed, and not only paid them well for the wood but often
gave them milk and rice and other little things to help them. In time they
actually got used to being without Subha Datta, and the little girls nearly
forgot all about him. Little did they dream of the change that was soon to come
into their lives.

13. Was it a good or a bad thing for the boys that their father did not come
back?

14. If you think it was a good thing, will you explain why? and if it was a bad
thing, why you think it was?

CHAPTER VIII

A month passed peacefully away in the depths of the forest, Subha Datta waiting
on the fairies and becoming every day more selfish and bent on enjoying
himself. Then he had another dream, in which he saw his wife and children in
the old home with plenty of food, and evidently so happy without him that he
felt quite determined to go and show them he was still alive. When he woke he
said to the fairies, “I will not stop with you any longer. I have had a
good time here, but I am tired of this life away from my own people.”

The fairies saw he was really in earnest this time, so they consented to let
him go; but they were kind-hearted people and felt they ought to pay him in
some way for all he had done for them. They consulted together, and then one of
them told him they wished to make him a present before he went away, and they
would give him whatever he asked for.

15. What do you think it was that made Subha Datta determine to go home when he
found his wife and children could do without him?

16. What would you have chosen if the fairies had told you you could have
anything you liked?

CHAPTER IX

Directly the woodcutter heard he could have anything he asked for, he cried,
“I will have the magic pitcher.”

You can just imagine what a shock this was to the fairies! You know, of course,
that fairies always keep their word. If they could not persuade Subha Datta to
choose something else, they would have to give him their beloved, their
precious pitcher and would have to seek their food for themselves. They all
tried all they could to persuade the woodcutter to choose something else. They
took him to their own secret treasure-house, in an old, old tree with a hollow
trunk, even the entrance to which no mortal had ever been allowed to see. They
blindfolded him before they started, so that he could never reveal the way, and
one of them led him by the hand, telling him where the steps going down from
the tree began. When at last the bandage was taken from his eyes, he found
himself in a lofty hall with an opening in the roof through which the light
came. Piled up on the floor were sparkling stones worth a great deal of gold
and silver money, and on the walls hung beautiful robes. Subha Datta was quite
dazed with all he saw, but he was only an ignorant woodcutter and did not
realize the value of the jewels and clothes. So when the fairies, said to him,
“Choose anything you like here and let us keep our pitcher,” he
shook his head and said: “No! no! no! The pitcher! I will have the
pitcher!” One fairy after another picked up the rubies and diamonds and
other precious stones and held them in the light, that the woodcutter might see
how lovely they were; and when he still only shook his head, they got down the
robes and tried to make him put one of them on. “No! the pitcher! the
pitcher!” he said, and at last they had to give it up. They bound his
eyes again and led him back to the clearing and the pitcher.

17. Would you have been tempted to give up the pitcher when you saw the jewels
and the robes?

18. What made Subha Datta so determined to have the pitcher?

CHAPTER X

Even when they were all back again in the clearing the fairies did not quite
give up hope of keeping their pitcher. This time they gave other reasons why
Subha Datta should not have it. “It will break very easily,” they
told him, “and then it will be no good to you or any one else. But if you
take some of the money, you can buy anything you like with it. If you take some
of the jewels you can sell them for lots of money.”

“No! no! no!” cried the woodcutter. “The pitcher! the
pitcher! I will have the pitcher!”

“Very well then, take, the pitcher,” they sadly answered,
“and never let us see your face again!”

So Subha Datta took the pitcher, carrying it very, very carefully, lest he
should drop it and break it before he got home. He did not think at all of what
a cruel thing it was to take it away from the fairies, and leave them either to
starve or to seek for food for themselves. The poor fairies watched him till he
was out of sight, and then they began to weep and wring their hands. “He
might at least have waited whilst we got some food out for a few days,”
one of them said. “He was too selfish to think of that,” said
another. “Come, let us forget all about him and go and look for some
fruit.”

So they all left off crying and went away hand in hand. Fairies do not want
very much to eat. They can live on fruit and dew, and they never let anything
make them sad for long at a time. They go out of this story now, but you need
not be unhappy about them, because you may be very sure that they got no real
harm from their generosity to Subha Datta in letting him take the pitcher.

19. Do you think the woodcutter was wrong to ask for the pitcher?

20. What would have been the best thing for Subha Datta to ask for, if he had
decided to let the fairies keep their pitcher?

CHAPTER XI

You can just imagine what a surprise it was to Subha Datta’s wife and
children when they saw him coming along the path leading to his home. He did
not bring the pitcher with him, but had hidden it in a hollow tree in the wood
near his cottage, for he did not mean any one to know that he had it. He told
his wife that he had lost his way in the forest, and had been afraid he would
never see her or his children again, but he said nothing about the fairies.
When his wife asked him how he had got food, he told her a long story about the
fruits he had found, and she believed all he said, and determined to make up to
him now for all she thought he had suffered. When she called the little girls
to come and help her get a nice meal for their father, Subha Datta said:
“Oh, don’t bother about that! I’ve brought something back
with me. I’ll go and fetch it, but no one is to come with me.”

Subha Datta’s wife was sorely disappointed at this, because she loved her
husband so much that it was a joy to her to work for him. The children too
wanted, of course, to go with their father, but he ordered them to stop where
they were. He seized a big basket which was fall of fuel for the fire, tumbled
all the wood in it on the floor, and went off alone to the pitcher. Very soon
he was back again with his basket full of all sorts of good things, the very
names of which his wife and children had no idea of. “There!” he
cried; “what do you think of that? Am I not a clever father to have found
all that in the forest? Those are the ‘fruits’ I meant when I told
Mother about them.”

21. What would you have thought about this wonderful supply of food, if you had
been one of the woodcutter’s children?

22. Was it a good thing for those children to have all this food without
working for it? If not, why was it not a good thing?

CHAPTER XII

Life was now, of course, completely changed for the family in the forest. Subha
Datta no longer went to cut wood to be sold, and the boys also left off doing
so. Every day their father fetched food for them all, and the greatest desire
of each one of the family was to find out where it came from. They never could
do so, for Subha Datta managed to make them afraid to follow him when he went
forth with his basket. The secret he kept from the wife to whom he used to tell
everything soon began to spoil the happiness of the home. The children who had
no longer anything to do quarrelled with each other. Their mother got sadder
and sadder, and at last decided to tell Subha Datta that, unless he would let
her know where the food came from, she would go away from him and take her
little girls with her. She really did mean to do this, but something soon
happened to change everything again. Of course, the neighbours in the wood, who
had bought the fuel from the boys and helped them by giving them fruit and
rice, heard of the return of their father and of the wonderful change in their
lot. Now the whole family had plenty to eat every day, though none of them knew
where it all came from. Subha Datta was very fond of showing off what he could
do, and sometimes asked his old friends amongst the woodcutters to come and
have a meal with him. When they arrived they would find all sorts of good
things spread out on the ground and different kinds of wines in beautiful
bottles.

This went on for some months, Subha Datta getting prouder and prouder of all
that he could do, and it seemed likely that his secret would never be
discovered. Everybody tried to find it out, and many followed him secretly when
he set forth into the woods; but he was very clever at dodging them, hiding his
treasure constantly in a new place in the dead of the night. If he had only
been content with getting food out of his pitcher and drinking pure water, all
would most likely have been well with him. But that was just what he could not
do. Till he had his pitcher he had never drunk anything but water, but now he
often took too much wine. It was this which led to the misfortune of losing his
beloved pitcher. He began to boast of his cleverness, telling his friends there
was nothing they wanted that he could not get for them; and one day when he had
given them a very grand feast, in which were several rare kinds of food they
had asked for, he drank too much wine—so much that he no longer knew what
he was saying.

This was the chance his guests wanted. They began teasing him, telling him they
believed he was really a wicked robber, who had stolen the food or the money to
buy it. He got angry, and at last was actually silly enough to tell them all to
come with him, and he would show them he was no robber. When his wife heard
this, she was half pleased to think that now at last the secret would come out
of where the food came from, and half afraid that something terrible would
happen. The children too were greatly excited, and went with the rest of the
party, who followed their father to the last hiding-place of the precious
pitcher.

When they all got very near the place, however, some idea began to come into
Subha Datta’s head that he was doing a very foolish thing. He stopped
suddenly, turned round facing the crowd that followed him, and said he would
not go a step further till they all went back to the cottage. His wife begged
him to let her at least go with him, and the children all clamoured not to be
sent back, but it was no good. Back they all had to go, the woodcutter watching
till they were out of sight.

23. Would Subha Datta have been wise if he had told has wife about the pitcher?

24. Do you think it would have been a good or a bad thing for the secret to be
found out?

CHAPTER XIII

When the woodcutter was quite sure that every one was gone and nobody could see
where he had hidden the pitcher, he took it from the hole in which it lay and
carried it carefully to his home. You can imagine how everybody rushed out to
meet him when he came in sight, and crowded round him, so that there was danger
of the pitcher being thrown to the ground and broken. Subha Datta however
managed to get into the cottage without any accident, and then he began to take
things out of the pitcher and fling them on the ground, shouting, “Am I a
robber? Am I a robber? Who dared to call me a robber?” Then, getting more
and more excited, he picked up the pitcher, and holding it on his shoulder
began to dance wildly about. His wife called out to him, “Oh, take care,
take care! You will drop it!” But he paid no attention to her. Suddenly,
however, he began to feel giddy and fell to the ground, dropping the pitcher as
he did so. It was broken to pieces, and a great cry of sorrow went up from all
who saw the accident. The woodcutter himself was broken-hearted, for he knew
that he had done the mischief himself, and that if only he had resisted the
temptation to drink the wine he would still have his treasure.

He was going to pick up the pieces to see if they could be stuck together, but
to his very great surprise he could not touch them. He heard a silvery laugh,
and what sounded like children clapping their hands, and he thought he also
heard the words, “Our pitcher is ours again!” Could it all have
been a dream? No: for there on the ground were the fruits and cakes that had
been in the pitcher, and there were his wife, his children and his friends, all
looking sadly and angrily at him. One by one the friends went away, leaving
Subha Datta alone with his family.

25. If you had been Subha Datta’s wife, what would you have done when
this misfortune came to her husband?

26. What would you have done if you had been the woodcutter?

CHAPTER XIV

This is the end of the story of the Magic Pitcher, but it was the beginning of
a new chapter in the lives of Subha Datta and his family. They never forgot the
wonder-working pitcher, and the children were never tired of hearing the story
of how their father came to get it. They often wandered about in the forest,
hoping that they too would meet with some wonderful adventure, but they never
saw the fairies or found a magic pitcher. By slow degrees the woodcutter
returned to his old ways, but he had learnt one lesson. He never again kept a
secret from his wife; because he felt sure that, if he had told her the truth
about the pitcher when he first came home, she would have helped him to save
the precious treasure.

27. What lesson can be learnt from this story?

28. Do you think it is easier for a boy or a girl to keep a secret?

29. Why is it wrong to let out a secret you have been told?

30. What do you think was the chief fault in the character of Subha Datta?

II.
The Story of a Cat, a Mouse, a Lizard and an Owl.

CHAPTER I

This is the story of four creatures, none of whom loved each other, who lived
in the same banyan tree in a forest in India. Banyan trees are very beautiful
and very useful, and get their name from the fact that “banians,”
as merchants are called in India, often gather together in their shade to sell
their goods. Banyan trees grow to a very great height, spreading their branches
out so widely that many people can stand beneath them. From those branches
roots spring forth, which, when they reach the ground, pierce it, and look
like, columns holding up a roof. If you have never seen a banyan tree, you can
easily find a picture of one in some dictionary; and when you have done so, you
will understand that a great many creatures can live in one without seeing much
of each other.

In an especially fine banyan tree, outside the walls of a town called Vidisa, a
cat, an owl, a lizard and a mouse, had all taken up their abode. The cat lived
in a big hole in the trunk some little distance from the ground, where she
could sleep very cosily, curled up out of sight with her head resting on her
forepaws, feeling perfectly safe from harm; for no other creature, she thought,
could possibly discover her hiding-place. The owl roosted in a mass of foliage
at the top of the tree, near the nest in which his wife had brought up their
children, before those children flew away to seek mates for themselves. He too
felt pretty secure as long as he remained up there; but he had seen the cat
prowling about below him more than once, and was very sure that, if she should
happen to catch sight of him when he was off his guard seeking his prey and
obliged to give all his attention to what he was doing, she might spring out
upon him and kill him. Cats do not generally attack such big birds as owls, but
they will sometimes kill a mother sitting in her nest, as well as the little
ones, if the father is too far off to protect them.

The lizard loved to lie and bask in the sunshine, catching the flies on which
he lived, lying so still that they did not notice him, and darting out his long
tongue suddenly to suck them into his mouth. Yet he hid from the owl and the
cat, because he knew full well that, tough though he was, they would gobble him
up if they happened to be hungry. He made his home amongst the roots on the
south side of the tree where it was hottest, but the mouse had his hole on the
other side amongst damp moss and dead leaves. The mouse was in constant fear of
the cat and the owl. He knew that both of them could see in the dark, and he
would have no chance of escape if they once caught sight of him.

1. Which of these four creatures do you think was most to be pitied?

2. Do you think that animals ever hate or love each as human creatures do?

CHAPTER II

The lizard and the mouse could only get food in daylight; but the lizard did
not have to go far for the flies on which he lived, whilst the mouse had a very
dangerous journey to take to his favourite feeding place. This was a barley
field a short distance from the banyan tree, where he loved to nibble the full
ears, running up the stalks to get at them. The mouse was the only one of the
four creatures in the banyan tree who did not feed on others; for, like the
rest of his family, he was a vegetarian, that is to say, he ate nothing but
vegetables and fruit.

Now the cat knew full well how fond the mouse was of the barley-field, and she
used to keep watch amongst the tall stems, creeping stealthily about with her
tail in the air and her green eyes glistening, expecting any moment to see the
poor little mouse darting hastily along. The cat never dreamt that any danger
could come to her, and she trod down the barley, making quite a clear path
through it. She was quite wrong in thinking herself so safe, for that path got
her into very serious trouble.

It so happened that a hunter, whose great delight was to kill wild creatures,
and who was very clever in finding them, noticing every little thing which
could shew him where they had passed by, came one day into the barley-field. He
spied the path directly and cried, “Ha! ha! Some wild animal has been
here; not a very big one; let’s have a look for the footprints!” So
he stooped down to the ground, and very soon saw the marks of pussy’s
feet. “A cat, I do believe,” he said to himself, “spoiling
the barley she doesn’t want to eat herself. I’ll soon pay her
out.” The hunter waited until the evening lest the creature should see
what he was going to do, and then in the twilight he set snares all over the
barley-field. A snare, you know, is a string with a slip-knot at the end of it;
and if an animal puts his head or one of his paws into this slip-knot and goes
on without noticing it, the string is pulled tight and the poor creature cannot
get free.

3. Was it right or wrong of the hunter to set the snare?

4. Do you think the cat was wrong to lie in wait for the mouse?

CHAPTER III

Exactly what the hunter expected happened. The cat came as usual to watch for
the mouse, and caught sight of him running across the end of the path. Puss
dashed after him; and just as she thought she really had got him this time, she
found herself caught by the neck, for she had put her head into one of the
snares. She was nearly strangled and could scarcely even mew. The mouse was so
close that he heard the feeble mew, and in a terrible fright, thinking the cat
was after him, he peeped through the stems of the barley to make sure which way
to run to get away from her. What was his delight when he saw his enemy in such
trouble and quite unable to do him any harm!

Now it so happened that the owl and the lizard were also in the barley-field,
not very far away from the cat, and they too saw the distress their hated enemy
was in. They also caught sight of the little mouse peeping through the barley;
and the owl thought to himself, “I’ll have you, my little friend,
now puss cannot do me any harm,” whilst the lizard darted away into the
sunshine, feeling glad that the cat and the owl were neither of them now likely
to trouble their heads about him. The owl flew quietly to a tree hard by to
watch what would happen, feeling so sure of having the mouse for his dinner
that he was in no hurry to catch him.

5. What would you have done if you had been the mouse, when you saw the cat in
the snare?

6. Was the owl wise or foolish to wait before he caught the mouse?

CHAPTER IV

The mouse, small and helpless though he was, was a wise little creature. He saw
the owl fly up into the tree, and knew quite well that if he did not take care
he would serve as dinner to that great strong bird. He knew too that, if he
went within reach of the claws of the cat, he would suffer for it. “How I
do wish,” he thought to himself, “I could make friends with the
cat, now she is in distress, and get her to promise not to hurt me if ever she
gets free. As long as I am near the cat, the owl will not dare to come after
me.” As he thought and thought, his eyes got brighter and brighter, and
at last he decided what he would do. He had, you see, kept his presence of
mind; that is to say, he did not let his fright of the cat or the owl prevent
him from thinking clearly. He now ventured forth from amongst the barley, and
coming near enough to the cat for her to see him quite clearly, but not near
enough for her to reach him with her claws, or far enough away for the owl to
get him without danger from those terrible claws, he said to the cat in a queer
little squeaky voice: “Dear Puss, I do not like to see you in such a fix.
It is true we have never been exactly friends, but I have always looked up to
you as a strong and noble enemy. If you will promise never to do me any harm, I
will do my best to help you. I have very sharp teeth, and I might perhaps be
able to nibble through the string round your beautiful neck and set you free.
What do you think about it?”

7. Do you think there was any chance of a cat and a mouse becoming real
friends?

8. Can you give two or three instances you know of presence of mind in danger?

CHAPTER V

When the cat heard what the mouse said, she could hardly believe her ears. She
was of course ready to promise anything to anyone who would help her, so she
said at once:

“You dear little mouse, to wish to help me. If only you will nibble
through that string which is killing me, I promise that I will always love you,
always be your friend, and however hungry I may be, I will starve rather than
hurt your tender little body.”

On hearing this, the mouse, without hesitating a moment, climbed up on to the
cat’s back, and cuddled down in the soft fur near her neck, feeling very
safe and warm there. The owl would certainly not attack him there, he thought,
and the cat could not possibly hurt him. It was one thing to pounce down on a
defenceless little creature running on the ground amongst the barley, quite
another to try and snatch him from the very neck of a cat.

The cat of course expected the mouse to begin to nibble through the string at
once, and became very uneasy when she felt the little creature nestle down as
if to go to sleep, instead of helping her. Poor Pussy could not turn her head
so as to see the mouse without drawing the string tighter, and she did not dare
to speak angrily lest she should offend him. “My dear little
friend,” she said, “do you not think it is high time to keep your
promise and set me free?”

Hearing this, the mouse pretended to bite the string, but took care not to do
so really; and the cat waited and waited, getting more miserable every minute.
All through the long night the same thing went on: the mouse taking a little
nap now and then, the cat getting weaker and weaker. “Oh,” she
thought to herself, “if only I could get free, the first thing I would do
would be to gobble up that horrid little mouse.” The moon rose, the stars
came out, the wind murmured amongst the branches of the banyan tree, making the
unfortunate cat long to be safe in her cosy home in the trunk. The cries of the
wild animals which prowl about at night seeking their food were heard, and the
cat feared one of them might find her and kill her. A mother tiger perhaps
would snatch her, and take her to her hungry cubs, hidden away in the deep
forest, or a bird of prey might swoop down on her and grip her in his terrible
claws. Again and again she entreated the mouse to be quick, promising that, if
only he would set her at liberty, she would never, never, never forget it or do
any harm to her beloved friend.

9. What do you suppose the mouse was thinking all this time?

10. If you had been the mouse, would you have trusted to what the cat said in
her misery?

CHAPTER VI

It was not until the moon had set and the light of the dawn had put out that of
the stars that the mouse, made any real effort to help the cat. By this time
the hunter who had set the snare came to see if he had caught the cat; and the
poor cat, seeing him in the distance, became so wild with terror that she
nearly killed herself in the struggle to get away. “Keep still! keep
still,” cried the mouse, “and I will really save you.” Then
with a few quick bites with his sharp teeth he cut through the string, and the
next moment the cat was hidden amongst the barley, and the mouse was running
off in the opposite direction, determined to keep well out of sight of the
creature he had kept in such misery for so many hours. Full well he knew that
all the cat’s promises would be forgotten, and that she would eat him up
if she could catch him. The owl too flew away, and the lizard went off to hunt
flies in the sunshine, and there was not a sign of any of the four inhabitants
of the banyan tree when the hunter reached the snare. He was very much
surprised and puzzled to find the string hanging loose in two pieces, and no
sign of there having been anything caught in it, except two white hairs lying
on the ground close to the trap. He had a good look round, and then went home
without having found out anything.

When the hunter was quite out of sight, the cat came forth from the barley, and
hastened back to her beloved home in the banyan tree. On her way there she
spied the mouse also hurrying along in the same direction, and at first she
felt inclined to hunt him and eat him then and there. On second thoughts
however she decided to try and keep friends with him, because he might help her
again if she got caught a second time. So she took no notice of the mouse until
the next day, when she climbed down the tree and went to the roots in which she
knew the mouse was hidden. There she began to purr as loud as she could, to
show the mouse she was in a good humour, and called out, “Dear good
little mouse, come out of your hole and let me tell you how very, very grateful
I am to you for saving my life. There is nothing in the world I will not do for
you, if you will only be friends with me.”

The mouse only squeaked in answer to this speech, and took very good care not
to show himself, till he was quite sure the cat was gone beyond reach of him.
He stayed quietly in his hole, and only ventured forth after he had heard the
cat climb up into the tree again. “It is all very well,” thought
the mouse, “to pretend to make friends with an enemy when that enemy is
helpless, but I should indeed be a silly mouse to trust a cat when she is free
to kill me.”

The cat made a good many other efforts to be friends with the mouse, but they
were all unsuccessful. In the end the owl caught the mouse, and the cat killed
the lizard. The owl and the cat both lived for the rest of their lives in the
banyan tree, and died in the end at a good old age.

11. Do you think it is ever possible to make a real friend of an enemy?

12. What do you think the mouse deserved most praise for in his behaviour?

13. Which of the four animals in this story do you like best and which do you
dislike most?

14. Can an animal be blamed for acting according to its nature? For instance,
can you call it cruel for a cat or an owl to kill and eat a mouse?

15. Is it always right to forgive an injury?

16. Can you give an example from history of the forgiveness of an injury?

III.
A Royal Thief-Catcher.

CHAPTER I

In one of the smaller cities of India called Sravasti the people gathered
together on a very hot day to stare at and talk about a stranger, who had come
in to the town, looking very weary and walking with great difficulty because
his feet were sore with tramping for a long distance on the rough roads. He was
a Brahman, that is to say, a man who devoted his whole life to prayer, and had
promised to give up everything for the sake of pleasing the god in whom he
believed, and to care nothing for comfort, for riches, or for good food.

This Brahman carried nothing with him but a staff to help him along, and a bowl
in which to receive the offerings of those who thought it their duty to help
him and hoped by doing so to win favour in the sight of God. He was naked,
except for a cloth worn about his loins, and his long hair was all matted
together for want of combing and brushing. He made his way very slowly and
painfully through the crowds, till he came to a shady corner, and there he sank
down exhausted, holding out his bowl for the gifts of the people. Very soon his
bowl would have been full of all sorts of good things, but he made it clear
that he would accept nothing to eat except rice still in the husk, and nothing
to drink but pure water. He was however willing to take money; and when the
people who wished to help him found that out, they brought him a good many
silver and gold pieces. Some who had no money to spare gave him jewels and
other things which could be sold for money.

1. Can you explain why the Brahman would only accept such food as rice in the
husk and water?

2. Do you think it was right or wrong of the Brahman to take money and jewels?

CHAPTER II

As time went on, the Brahman became very well known in Sravasti. His fame
indeed spread far beyond the town, and people came from far away to consult him
about all sorts of things, and he gave them good advice, for he was a very wise
man. Those who wanted him to tell them what to do paid him for his advice, and
as some of them had plenty of money and were glad to help him, he soon became
quite rich. He might have done a great deal of good with all this money by
helping the poor and suffering, but unfortunately he never thought of doing so.
Instead of that, he got to love the money for its own sake. At night, when all
those who had come to see him had gone to rest, and there was no fear of his
being found out, he used to steal away into the forest, and there he dug a deep
hole at the root of a great tree, to which he took all his money and jewels.

In India everybody has a siesta, that is to say, a sleep in the middle of the
day, because the heat is so great it is difficult to keep well and strong
without this extra rest. So, although it is quite light at the time, the
streets are deserted, except for the dogs who prowl about, trying to find
something to eat. Now the Brahman loved his money and other treasures so much,
that he used very often to do without this siesta and go to the forest to enjoy
the pleasure of looking at them. When he got to the tree, he would bend down,
clear away the earth and leaves with which he had hidden his secret hole, take
out the money and let it slip through his fingers, and hold up the jewels to
the light, to watch how they gleamed and glistened. He was never so happy as
when he was alone with his riches, and it was all he could do to tear himself
away from them when the time came to go back to his shady corner. In fact he
was becoming a selfish miser instead of the holy man the people of Sravasti
thought he was. By the time the siesta was over he was always back again in his
place beneath the tree, holding out his bowl and looking as poor and thin as
ever, so that nobody had the least idea of the truth.

3. Why was it wrong for the Brahman to hide away his money and jewels?

4. Can anyone be a miser about other things as well as money and jewels? If so,
what other things?

CHAPTER III

For many months the Brahman led this double life; until one day, when he went
as usual to his hiding-place, he saw at once that some one had been there
before him. Eagerly he knelt down, full of fear of exactly what had actually
happened. All his care in concealing the hole had been wasted, for it was quite
empty. The poor man could not at first believe his own eyes. He rubbed them
hard, thinking that there was something the matter with them. Then he felt
round and round the hole, hoping that after all he was mistaken; and when at
last he was obliged to believe the terrible truth that there really was not a
sign of his money and jewels, he became almost mad with misery. He began to run
from tree to tree, peering into their roots, and when there was nothing to be
seen, he rushed back again to his empty hole, to look into it once more. Then
he wept and tore at his hair, stamped about and cried aloud to all the gods he
believed in, making all kinds of promises, of what he would do if only they
would give him back his treasures. No answer came, and he began to wonder who
could have done such a terrible thing. It must, he felt sure, have been one of
the people of Sravasti; and he now remembered he had noticed that a good many
of them had looked into his bowl with longing eyes, when they saw the money and
precious stones in it. “What horrible, wicked people they are,” he
said to himself. “I hate them. I should like to hurt them as they have
hurt me.” As he thought in this way he got more and more angry, until he
became quite worn out with giving way to his rage.

5. What would you have done if you had been the Brahman when he lost his
treasure?

6. Is it wrong to be angry when any one has done you an injury?

CHAPTER IV

After roaming about in the forest for a long time, the Brahman went back to the
house in Sravasti where some kind people had lent him a room, glad and proud to
have such a holy man, as they thought he was, living under their roof. He felt
sure they had had nothing to do with the loss of his treasure, because they had
given him many proofs of their goodness and honesty. Soon he was pouring out
all his grief to them, and they did all they could to comfort him, telling him
that he would very soon have plenty more money and jewels. They let him see
however that they thought it was mean of him to hide away his riches, instead
of using them to help the poor and suffering; and this added very much to his
rage. At last he lost all self-control and cried, “It is not worth while
for me to live any longer. I will go to some holy place of pilgrimage by the
banks of the river, and there I will starve myself to death.”

A place of pilgrimage, you know, is one where some great event, generally
connected with religion, has taken place, to which pilgrims go to pray in the
hope of winning some special favour from God. The word pilgrim means a
wanderer, but it has come in course of time to signify any traveller who comes
from a distance to some such place. Benares in India is a very famous place of
pilgrimage, because it is on the River Ganges, which the Hindus worship and
love, believing that its waters can wash away their sins. Hundreds and
thousands of Hindus go there every year to bathe in it, and many who know that
they have not long to live wait on its banks to die, so that after their bodies
have been burnt, as is the custom with the Hindus, their ashes may be thrown
into the sacred stream.

7. Can you name two other places of pilgrimage, one held sacred by Christians
and one by Hindus?

8. Will you explain exactly why the two places you have thought of are
considered holy?

CHAPTER V

The news of the Brahman’s loss spread very quickly through Sravasti; and
as is so often the case, every one who told the story made it a little
different, so that it became very difficult to know what the truth really was.
There was great distress in the town, because the people thought the Brahman
would go away, and they did not want him to do that. They were proud of having
a man they thought so holy, living amongst them, and ashamed that he should
have been robbed whilst he was with them. When they heard that he meant to
starve himself to death, they were dreadfully shocked, and determined to do all
they possibly could to prevent it. One after another of the chief men of
Sravasti came to see him, and entreated him not to be in such a hurry to be
sure that his treasure would never be found. They said they would all do
everything they possibly could to get it back for him. Some of them thought it
was very wrong of him to make such a fuss about it, and blamed him for being a
miser. They told him it was foolish to care so much for what he could not take
with him when he died, and one specially wise old man gave him a long lecture
on the wickedness of taking away the life which had been given to him by God to
prepare for that in the other world. “Put the idea of starving yourself
out of your head,” he said, “and whilst we are seeking your
treasure, go on as you did before you lost it. Next time you have any money and
jewels, turn them to good account instead of hoarding them up.”

9. Do you think the Brahman was of any real use to the people of Sravasti?

10. In what qualities do you think the Brahman was wanting when he made up his
mind to starve himself to death?

CHAPTER VI

In spite of all that any one could say to him, the Brahman was quite determined
that he would not live any longer. He set off to the place of pilgrimage he had
chosen, taking no notice of any one he met, but just marching steadily on. At
first a number of people followed him, but by degrees they left off doing so,
and soon he was quite alone. Presently however he could not help noticing a man
approaching from the direction in which he was going. Very tall, very handsome,
very dignified, this man was one whom no one could fail to admire, even if he
had been only an ordinary person. But he was the king of the whole country,
whose name was Prasnajit; and a little distance behind him were a number of his
attendants, waiting to obey his orders. Everybody, even the Brahman, loved the
king, because he took such a very great interest in his people and was always
trying to do them good. He had heard all about the loss of the money, and was
very much vexed that such a thing should have happened in his land. He had also
heard that the Brahman meant to kill himself, and this distressed him more than
anything else, because he thought it a very wicked and terrible thing to do.

The king stood so exactly in the path of the Brahman that it was impossible to
pass him by without taking any notice of him, and the unhappy man stood still,
hanging down his head and looking very miserable. Without waiting for a moment,
Prasnajit said to the Brahman: “Do not grieve any more. I will find your
treasure for you, and give it back to you; or if I fail to do so I will pay you
as much as it was worth out of my own purse: for I cannot bear to think of your
killing yourself. Now tell me very carefully where you hid your gold and
jewels, and everything about the place, to help me to make sure of it.”

The Brahman was greatly delighted to hear this, because he knew full well that
the king would keep his word, and that, even if his own treasure was never
found, he would have plenty of money given to him by the king. He at once told
Prasnajit exactly where he had put his store, and offered to take him there.
The king agreed to go with him at once, and he and the Brahman went straight
away to the big hole in the forest, the attendants following them a little way
behind.

11. If you had been the king, how would you have set about finding the
treasure?

12. Was it a good or a bad thing for the Brahman to have secured the help of
the king?

CHAPTER VII

After the king had seen the big empty hole, and noticed exactly where it was,
and the nearest way to it from the town, he returned to his palace, first
telling the Brahman to go back to the house he lived in, and wait there till he
received a message from him. He promised to see that he wanted for nothing, and
sent one of his attendants to a rich merchant of Sravasti, who had already done
a good deal for the Brahman, to order him to supply the holy man with all he
needed. Very glad that after all he was not going to die, the Brahman obeyed
willingly, and for the next few days he was taken care of by the merchant, who
supplied him with plenty of food.

As soon as Prasnajit was back in his palace, he pretended that he was taken
suddenly ill. His head ached badly, he said, and he could not make out what was
the matter with him. He ordered a proclamation to be sent all round the town,
telling all the doctors to come to the palace to see him. All the doctors in
the place at once hastened to obey, each of them hoping that he would be the
one to cure the king and win a great reward. So many were they that the big
reception room was full of them, and they all glared at each other so angrily
that the attendants kept careful watch lest they should begin to fight. One at
a time they were taken to the king’s private room, but very much to their
surprise and disappointment he seemed quite well and in no need of help from
them. Instead of talking about his own illness, he asked each doctor who his
patients were in the town, and what medicines he was giving to them. Of course
Prasnajit’s questions were carefully answered; but the king said nothing
more, just waving his hand to shew that the interview was at an end. Then the
attendants led the visitor out. At last however a doctor came, who said
something which led the king to keep him longer than he had kept any of the
others. This doctor was a very famous healer who had saved the lives of many of
Prasnajit’s subjects. He told the king that a merchant named Matri-Datta
was very ill, suffering greatly, but that he hoped to cure him by giving him
the juice of a certain plant called nagaballa. At the time this story was
written, doctors in India did not give their patients medicine, or write
prescriptions for them to take to chemists to be made up, because there were no
chemists in those days, such as there are in all the towns of Europe, who keep
the materials in stock for making medicines. A doctor just said to his patient,
“you must take the juice of this or that plant”; and the suffering
person had to go into the fields or woods to find the plant or else to send a
servant to do so.

When the king heard that the doctor had ordered Matri-Datta to take the juice
of the nagaballa plant, he cried “No more doctors need come to see
me!” and after sending away the one who had told him what he wanted to
know, he gave orders that Matri-Datta should be sent for at once.

13. Can you guess why the king sent for the doctors?

14. Do you think Matri-Datta had anything to do with stealing the
Brahman’s treasure?

CHAPTER VIII

Ill and suffering though he was, Matri-Datta did not dare disobey the king: so
he came at once. As soon as he appeared, Prasnajit asked him how he was, and
said he was sorry to have to make him leave his home when he was ill, but the
matter on which he wished to see him was of very great importance. Then he
suddenly added: “When your doctor ordered you to take the juice of the
nagaballa plant whom did you send to find it?”

To this Matri-Datta replied trembling with fear: “My servant, O king,
sought it in the forest; and having found it, brought it to me.”

“Go back and send that servant to me immediately,” was the reply;
and the merchant hurried away, wondering very much why the king wanted to see
the man, and hoping that he himself would not get into disgrace on account of
anything he had done to make Prasnajit angry.

15. Have you any idea why the king wanted the servant sent to him?

16. From what the story tells you so far, do you think Prasnajit was a good
ruler of his kingdom?

CHAPTER IX

When Matri-Datta told his servant that he was to go to the palace to see the
king, the man was dreadfully frightened, and begged his master not to make him
go. This made Matri-Datta pretty sure that he had done something wrong and was
afraid of being found out. “Go at once,” he said, “and
whatever you do, speak the truth to the king. That will be your only chance if
you have offended him.” Again and again the servant entreated Matri-Datta
not to insist, and when he found it was no good, he asked him at least to come
with him to the palace and plead for him with Prasnajit. The merchant knew then
for certain that something was seriously wrong, and he consented to go to the
palace with his servant, partly out of curiosity and partly out of fear for
himself. When the two got to the palace, the attendants at once led the servant
to the presence of the king, but they would not let the master go with him.

Directly the servant entered the room and saw the king sitting on his throne,
he fell upon his face at the foot of the steps, crying, “Mercy!
mercy!” He was right to be afraid, for Prasnajit said to him in a loud
voice: “Where are the gold and the jewels you took from the hole in the
roots of a tree when you went to find the nagaballa plant for your
master?” The servant, who really had taken the money and jewels, was so
terrified when he found that the king knew the truth, that he had not a word to
say at first, but just remained lying on the ground, trembling all over.
Prasnajit too was silent, and the attendants waiting for orders behind the
throne looked on, wondering what would happen now.

17. Have you guessed what the nagaballa plant had to do with finding out who
had stolen the money and jewels?

18. If you had been the king, what punishment would you have ordered for the
thief?

CHAPTER X

When the silence had lasted about ten minutes, the thief raised his head from
the ground and looked at the king, who still said not a word. Something in his
face however made the wicked servant hope that he would not be punished by
death in spite of the great wrong he had done. The king looked very stern, it
is true, but not enraged against him. So the servant rose to his feet, and
clasping his hands together as he held them up to Prasnajit, said in a
trembling voice: “I will fetch the treasure, I will fetch the
treasure.” “Go then at once,” said the king, “and bring
it here”: and as he said it, there was a beautiful expression in his
eyes, which made the thief more sorry for what he had done than he would have
been if Prasnajit had said, “Off with his head!” or had ordered him
to be beaten.

19. What do you think is the best way to make wicked people good?

20. What is the most powerful reason a man or woman or a child can have for
trying to be good?

CHAPTER XI

As soon as the king said, “Go at once,” the servant started to his
feet and hastened away, as eager now to restore what he had stolen as he had
been to hide it. He had put it in another hole in the very depths of the
forest; and it was a long time before he got back to the palace with it, for it
was very heavy. He had thought the king would send some guards with him, to see
that he did not run away, and that they would have helped him to carry the sack
full of gold and jewels; but nobody followed him. It was hard work to drag the
heavy load all the way alone; but at last, quite late in the evening, he was
back at the palace gates. The soldiers standing there let him pass without a
word, and soon he was once more in the room in which the king had received him.
Prasnajit still sat on his throne, and the attendants still waited behind him,
when the thief, so tired he could hardly stand, once more lay prostrate at the
bottom of the steps leading up to the throne, with the sack beside him. How his
heart did beat as he waited for what the king would say! It seemed a very long
time before Prasnajit spoke, though it was only two or three minutes; and when
he did, this is what he said, “Go back to your home now, and be a thief
no more.”

Very, very thankfully the man obeyed, scarcely able to believe that he was free
to go and that he was not to be terribly punished. Never again in the rest of
his life did he take what did not belong to him, and he was never tired of
telling his children and his friends of the goodness of the king who had
forgiven him.

21. Do you think it would have been better for the thief to have been punished?

22. What lesson did the thief learn from what had happened to him?

CHAPTER XII

The Brahman, who had spent the time of waiting in prayers that his treasure
should be given back to him, and was still determined that, if it were not, he
would starve himself to death, was full of delight when he heard that it had
been found. He hastened to the palace and was taken before the king, who said
to him: “There is your treasure. Take it away, and make a better use of
it than before. If you lose it again, I shall not try to recover it for
you.”

The Brahman, glad as he was to have his money and jewels restored, did not like
to be told by the king to make a better use of them. Besides this he wanted to
have the thief punished; and he began talking about that, instead of thanking
Prasnajit and promising to follow his advice. The king looked at him much as he
had looked at the thief and said: “The matter is ended so far as I have
anything to do with it: go in peace.”

The Brahman, who was accustomed to be honoured by every one from the king on
his throne to the beggars in the street, was astonished at the way in which
Prasnajit spoke to him. He would have said more, but the king made a sign to
his attendants, two of whom dragged the sack to the entrance of the palace and
left it there, so that there was nothing for the Brahman to do but to take it
away with him. Every one who has read this wonderful story would, of courses
like to know what became of him after that, but nothing more is told about him.

23. Do you think that the Brahman learnt anything from his loss and recovery of
his treasure?

24. Was the Brahman more wicked than, the thief or the thief than the Brahman?

25. Do you think the Brahman continued to be a miser for the rest of his life?

26. What were the chief characteristics of the king—that is to say, what
sort of man do you think he was?

27. Which of the people who are spoken of in this story do you like and admire
most, and which do you dislike most?

IV.
The Magic Shoes and Staff.

CHAPTER I

Far, far away in a town of India called Chinchini, where in days long gone by
the ancient gods in whom the people believed are said sometimes to have
appeared to those who called upon them for help, there lived three brothers of
noble birth, who had never known what it was to want for food, or clothes, or a
house to live in. Each was married to a wife he loved, and for many years they
were all as happy as the day was long. Presently however a great misfortune in
which they all shared befell their native country. There was no rain for many,
many weeks; and this is a very serious thing in a hot country like India,
because, when it does not rain for a long time, the ground becomes so parched
and hard that nothing can grow in it. The sun is very much stronger in India
than it is in England; and it sent forth its burning rays, drying up all the
water in the tanks and changing what had been a beautiful country, covered
with green crops good for food, into a dreary desert, where neither men nor
animals could get anything to eat. The result of this was that there was a
terrible famine, in which hundreds of people and animals died, little children
being the first to suffer.

Now the three brothers, who had none of them any children, got frightened at
the state of things, and thought to themselves, “If we do not escape from
this dreadful land, we shall die.” They said to each other: “Let us
flee away from here, and go somewhere where we are sure of being able to get
plenty to eat and drink. We will not take our wives with us; they would only
make things worse for us; let us leave them to look after themselves.”

1. What do you think of the behaviour of the three brothers? Was there any
excuse for their leaving their wives behind them?

2. Do you think the wives themselves can have been to blame in any way in the
matter?

CHAPTER II

So the three wives were deserted, and had to manage as best they could without
their husbands, who did not even trouble to wish them goodbye. The wives were
at first very sad and lonely, but presently a great joy came to one of them
which made the other two very happy as well. This joy was the birth of a little
boy, whose two aunts loved him almost as much as his mother did. The story does
not tell how they all got food whilst the famine was going on, though it is
very evident that they were not starved, for the baby boy grew fast and was a
strong healthy little fellow.

One night all the three wives had the same dream, a very wonderful one, in
which the god Siva, who is very much honoured in India, appeared to them. He
told them that, looking down from Heaven, he had noticed how tenderly they
cared for the new-born baby, and that he wished them to call him Putraka.
Besides this he astonished them by adding that, as a reward for the unselfish
way in which they had behaved, they would find one hundred thousand gold pieces
under the little child’s pillow every morning, and that one day that
little child would be a king.

3. Do you think the three women wanted to be rewarded for loving the baby?

4. Is it a good thing to have a great deal of money?

CHAPTER III

The wonderful dream was fulfilled, and the mother and aunts called the boy
Putraka. Every morning they found the gold pieces under his pillow, and they
took care of the money for him, so that when he grew up he was the very richest
man in the whole country. He had a happy childhood and boyhood, his only
trouble being that he did not like having never seen his father. His mother
told him about the famine before he was born, and how his father and uncles had
gone away and never come back. He often said, “When I am a man I will
find my father and bring him home again.” He used his money to help
others, and one of the best things he did was to irrigate the land; that is to
say, he made canals into which water was made to flow in times when there was
plenty of rain, so that there was no danger of there being another famine, such
as that which had driven his father and uncles away. The country in which he
lived became very fruitful; everybody had enough to eat and drink; and Putraka
was very much loved, especially by the poor and unhappy. When the king who
ruled over the land died, everybody wanted Putraka to take his place, and he
was chosen at once.

5. Will you describe the kind of man you think Putraka was?

6. Do you know of any other country besides India in which everything depends
on irrigation?

CHAPTER IV

One of the other wise things Putraka did, when he became king, was to make
great friends with his Brahman subjects. Brahmans are always very fond of
travelling, and Putraka thought, if he were good and generous to them, they
would talk about him wherever they went, and that perhaps through them his
father and uncles would hear about him. He felt sure that, if they knew he was
now a king ruling over their native land, they would want to come back. He gave
the Brahmans plenty of money, and told them to try and find his father and
uncles. If they did, they were to say how anxious he was to see them, and
promise them everything they wanted, if only they would return.

7. Do you think it was wise of Putraka to be so anxious to get his father and
uncles back, when he knew how selfish they had been in leaving his mother and
aunts behind them?

8. Can you suggest anything else Putraka might have done in the matter?

CHAPTER V

Just what the young king hoped came to pass. Wherever the Brahmans went they
talked about the country they came from and the wonderful young king who ruled
over it. Putraka’s father and uncles, who were after all not so very far
off, heard the stories about him, and asked the Brahmans many questions. The
answers made them very eager to see Putraka, but they did not at first realize
that he was closely related to them. Only when they heard the name of his
mother did they guess the truth. Putraka’s father knew, when he deserted
his wife, that God was going to give her a child soon; which made it even more
wicked of him to leave her. Now, however, he forgot all about that, only
thinking how he could make as much use as possible of the son who had become a
king. He wanted to go back at once alone, but the uncles were not going to
allow that. They meant to get all they could out of Putraka too; and the three
selfish men, who were now quite old, set off together for the land they had
left so long ago.

They arrived safely, and made their way to the palace, where they were
received, with great rejoicings. None of the wives said a word of reproach to
the husbands who had deserted them; and as for Putraka, he was so overjoyed at
having his father back, that he gave him a beautiful house to live in and a
great deal of money. He was very good to his uncles too, and felt that he had
now really nothing left to wish for.

9. Do you think Putraka showed strength or weakness of character in the way he
received the travellers?

10. How do you think the king ought to have behaved to his father and uncles?

CHAPTER VI

The three wives very soon had good reason to wish their husbands had stayed
away. Instead of being grateful for all Putraka’s generosity, they were
very unkind and exacting, never pleased with anything; and whatever they had
given them, they were always trying to get more. In fact, they were silly as
well as wicked; for they did not realize that this was not the way to make the
king love them or wish to keep them with him. Presently they became jealous of
Putraka, and began to wish to get rid of him. His father hated to feel that his
son was king, whilst he was only one of that king’s subjects; and he made
up his mind to kill him, hoping that if he could only get rid of him he might
rule over the country in his stead. He thought and thought how best to manage
this, and did not at first mean to tell his brothers anything about it; but in
the end he decided he had better have them on his side. So he invited them to
go with him to a secret place to talk the matter over.

11. What qualities did Putraka’s father show in this plot against his
son?

12. Was there any other way in which the king’s father could have gained
a share in governing the land?

CHAPTER VII

After many meetings the three wicked men decided that they would pay some one
to kill the king, first making the murderer they chose swear that he would
never tell who had ordered him to do the terrible deed. It was not very
difficult to find a man bad enough to take money for such an evil purpose, and
the next thing to do was to decide where and when the deed was to be done.
Putraka had been very well brought up by his mother, and he often went to a
beautiful temple near his palace to pray alone. He would sometimes stop there a
long time, winning fresh wisdom and strength to do the work he was trusted
with, and praying not only for himself, but for his father, his mother, his
aunts and uncles, and for the people he loved so much.

The murderer was told to wait in this temple, and when the young king was
absorbed in prayer, to fall suddenly upon him and kill him. Then, when Putraka
was dead, he was to take his body and bury it far away in the depths of the
forest where it could never be found. At first it seemed likely that this cruel
plot would succeed. To make quite sure, the murderer got two other men as
wicked as himself to come and help him, promising to give them a share in the
reward. But the god who had taken care of Putraka ever since he was born, did
not forget him now. As the young king prayed, forgetting everything in his
earnest pleading for those he loved, he did not see or hear the evil men
drawing stealthily close to him. Their arms were uplifted to slay him, and the
gleam of the weapons in the light that was always kept burning flashed upon
him, when suddenly the heavenly guardian of the temple, who never left it day
or night, but was generally invisible, appeared and cast a spell upon the
wicked men, whose hands were arrested in the very act to strike.

What a wonderful sight that must have been, when Putraka, disturbed in his
prayers, looked round and saw the men who had come to kill him, with the
shadowy form of the guardian threatening them! He knew at once that he had been
saved from a dreadful death by a messenger from the god he had been
worshipping. As he gazed at the men, the guardian faded away and he was left
alone with them. Slowly the spell cast on them was broken, and they dropped
their weapons, prostrated themselves, and clasped their hands in an appeal for
mercy to the man they had meant to destroy. Putraka looked at them quietly and
sadly. He felt no anger against them, only a great thankfulness for his escape.
He spoke to the men very sternly, asking them why they wished to harm him; and
the chief murderer told him who had sent them.

The knowledge that his father wished to kill him shocked and grieved the young
king terribly, but he controlled himself even when he learnt the sad truth. He
told the men that he forgave them, for they were not the most to blame; and he
made them promise never to betray who had bribed them to kill him. He then gave
them some money and told them to leave him.

13. What do you think the most beautiful incident in this account of the scene
in the temple?

14. What do you suppose were the thoughts of the murderers when they left the
temple after Putraka forgave them?

CHAPTER VIII

When Putraka was alone, he threw himself upon the ground and wept very
bitterly. He felt that he could never be happy again, never trust anyone again.
He had so loved his father and uncles. It had been such a joy to him to give
them pleasure, and yet they hated him and wished to kill him. He wondered
whether he was himself to blame for what had happened, and began to think he
was not worthy to be king, if he could make such a mistake as he now feared he
had made in being so generous to those who could have such hard thoughts of him
as to want to take his life. Perhaps after all it would be better for his
country to have another king. He did not feel as if he could go back to his
palace and meet his father and uncles again. “What shall I do? What shall
I do?” he cried, his sobs choking his voice. Never in all his life had he
thought it possible to be so miserable as he was now. Everything seemed changed
and he felt as if he were himself a different person. The only thing that
comforted him at all was the thought of his mother, whose love had never failed
him; but even that was spoiled by the remembrance that it was her husband who
had wished to kill him. She must never know that, for it would break her heart:
yet how could he keep it from her? Then the idea came to him that the best
thing he could do would be to go away and never see his own people again.

15. What do you think was wrong in Putraka’s way of looking at the past?

16. Was his idea of leaving his country and his people a sign of weakness or of
strength?

CHAPTER IX

In the end the poor young king decided that he would go right away as his
father and uncles had done; and his mind being made up, he became more cheerful
and began to think he might meet with some interesting adventures in a new
country, where nobody knew anything about him. As soon as it was light, he
wandered off into the forest, feeling, it is true, very lonely, but at the same
time taking a certain pleasure in being entirely his own master; which a king
can never really be, because he has to consider so many other people and to
keep so many rules.

After all Putraka did not find the forest so very lonely; for he had not gone
far in it before his sad thoughts were broken in upon by his coming suddenly to
a little clearing, where the trees had been cut down and two strong-looking men
were wrestling together. The king watched them for a little while, wondering
what they were fighting about. Then he called out, “What are you doing
here? What are you quarrelling about?”

The men were greatly surprised to hear Putraka’s voice, for they thought
that they were quite alone. They stopped fighting for a minute or two, and one
of them said: “We are fighting for three very precious things which were
left behind him by our father.”

“What are those things?” asked Putraka.

“A bowl, a stick and a pair of shoes,” was the reply.
“Whoever wins the fight will get them all. There they lie on the
ground.”

“Well, I never!” cried the king, laughing as he looked at the
things, which seemed to him worth very little. “I shouldn’t trouble
to fight about such trifles, if I were you.”

“Trifles!” exclaimed one of the men angrily. “You don’t
know what you are talking about. They are worth more than their weight in gold.
Whoever gets the bowl will find plenty of food in it whenever he wants it; the
owner of the stick has only to write his wishes on the ground with it and he
will get them; and whoever puts on the shoes can fly through the air in them to
any distance.”

17. Which of these things would you rather have had?

18. What lesson do you learn from what the men said about the things on the
ground?

CHAPTER X

When Putraka heard the wonders which, could be done with what he had thought
not worth having, he determined to get possession of the three treasures for
himself; not considering that it would be very wrong to take what did not
belong to him. “It seems a pity to fight,” he said, “why
don’t you race for the things, and let whichever wins the race have them?
That banyan tree over there would make a good winning post and I will be the
umpire.”

Instead of guessing what Putraka had in his mind, the brothers, who were very
simple fellows, said at once: “All right. We won’t fight,
we’ll race instead, and you can give us the start.” Putraka agreed,
and directly they were off he lost not a moment, but picked up the bowl and the
staff, put on the shoes, and flew straight up into the air with the treasures.
When the brothers came back, disputing about which of them had won, there was
not a sign of Putraka, the bowl, the stick, or the shoes. They guessed at once
what had happened; and after staring up in the air for a long time, they went
home, feeling very much enraged with the man who had cheated them, and ashamed
of having been so stupid as to trust him.

19. What do you think of Putraka’s behaviour in this matter?

20. If you could have had one of the three things Putraka stole, which would
you have chosen?

CHAPTER XI

On and on flew Putraka, full of eager delight in the new power of flight. How
he loved rushing through the air, cleaving it like a bird on the wing! All he
wanted to make him perfectly happy was someone to enjoy his new powers with
him. Presently he found himself above a beautiful city with towers and
pinnacles and minarets gleaming in the sunshine. “Ah!” he thought,
“that is the place for me. I will go down there, and see if I can find a
nice house to live in, and some people to make friends with, who will not try
to kill me or to cheat me, but love me and be grateful to me for any kindness I
show them.”

As Putraka was hovering in the air above the town to which he had taken such a
fancy, he noticed a little house which rather pleased him; for though it was
poor-looking, there was something cheerful and home-like about it. Down he sped
and alighted at the door. Only one poor old woman lived in the house, and when
Putraka knocked and asked if he might come in, she said “Yes” at
once. He gave her some money, and told her he would like to live with her, if
she would let him do so. She was only too glad to consent, for she was very
lonely; and the two lived happily together for a long time.

21. Do you think that if Putraka had flown home on his wonderful shoes, taking
his staff and bowl with him, his, father and uncles would still have tried to
kill him?

22. How could Putraka have prevented them from doing him harm if he had
returned to his home?

CHAPTER XII

The old woman grew very fond of Putraka, caring for him and waiting on him as
if he had been her own son. She was so anxious that he should be happy that she
became afraid he would become tired of living alone with her. So she said to
him one day: “My dear adopted son, you ought to have a wife to keep you
company. I know the very one for you, the only one really worthy of you. She is
a princess, and her name is Patala. She is so very lovely that every man who
sees her falls in love with her and wants to carry her off. So she is most
carefully guarded in the top rooms of a great palace, as high as the summits of
the loftiest mountains.” When Putraka heard this he was all eagerness to
see the princess, and at once determined to go forth to seek her. He was more
than ever glad now that he had stolen the shoes, because he knew that they
would carry him even to the top of the highest mountains.

23. What qualities did the old woman show when she told Putraka about the
Princess?

24. What faults of character did the young king show when he decided at once to
leave the old woman who had been so good to him?

CHAPTER XIII

The very evening of the day when Putraka heard about the princess, he started
on his journey, taking with him his bowl and staff. The old woman gave him very
careful instructions which way to go, and begged him to come back to tell her
how he had got on. He promised he would, thanked her for all she had done for
him, and flew away in a great state of excitement. She watched him till he was
quite out of sight, and then went sadly into her lonely home, wondering if she
would ever see him again.

It was not long before Putraka came in sight of the palace. It was a beautiful
night, and the moon was shining full upon the room in which the princess was
asleep. It was a very big one, with costly furniture and priceless tapestry
hung round the walls, and there were doors behind the tapestry leading to other
apartments, in some of which the attendants on Patala slept, whilst others kept
watch lest anyone should intrude upon their mistress. No one thought of
guarding the windows, for they were so high up that only a bird could reach
them.

The young king alighted on the ledge of the window of the princess’ room,
and looked in. There, on a golden bed, amongst soft cushions and embroidered
coverings, lay the most lovely creature he had ever beheld, so lovely that he
fell in love with her at once and gave a loud cry of delight. This woke the
princess, who started up and was about to scream out aloud in her terror at
seeing a man looking in at the window, when Putraka with the aid of his magic
staff made himself invisible. Then, thinking she had been dreaming, Patala lay
down again, and the king began talking to her in a low voice, telling her he
had heard of her beauty and had flown from far away to see her. He begged her
to allow him to show himself to her, and added: “I will go away again
directly afterwards if you wish it.”

Putraka’s voice was so gentle, and it seemed to Patala so wonderful that
a man could fly and make himself invisible, that she was full of curiosity to
see him and find out all about him. So she gave her consent, and immediately
afterwards the young king stood within the room, looking so noble and so
handsome that she too fell in love at first sight. Putraka told her all about
his life and adventures, which interested her very much. She was glad, she
said, that he was a king; but she would have loved him just as well, whoever he
might have been.

After a long talk, Patala begged him to leave her for fear her attendants
should discover him and tell her father about him. “My father would never
let me marry you,” she declared, “unless you were to come with many
followers as a king to ask my hand; and how can you do that when you are only a
wandering exile?”

25. Was there any reason to fear that Putraka would be discovered when he could
make himself invisible at any moment?

26. What do you think would have been the right thing for Putraka and Patala to
do when they found out that they loved each other?

CHAPTER XIV

It was very difficult to persuade Putraka to go, but at last he flew away.
Every night after that, however, he came to see Patala, spending the days
sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, and using his magic bowl to
supply himself with food. Alas, he forgot all about the dear old woman to whom
he owed all his happiness, and she slowly gave up hope of ever seeing him
again. He might quite easily have flown to her cottage and cheered her with his
presence; but he was so wrapped up in his love for Patala that everything else
went out of his head. This selfishness on his part presently got him into
serious trouble, for he became careless about making himself invisible when he
flew up to the princess’ window. So that one night he was discovered by a
guardian of the palace. The matter was at once reported to the king, who could
not at first believe such a thing was possible. The man must have seen a big
bird, that was all. The king, however, ordered one of his daughter’s
ladies to keep watch every night in an ante-room, leaving the door open with
the tapestry, in which there was a slit, drawn carefully over it, and to come
and tell him in the morning if she had seen or heard anything unusual.

Now the lady chosen loved the princess, and, like many of her
fellow-attendants, thought it was very cruel of the king to punish his own
child for being so beautiful, by shutting her up as he did. It so happened that
the very first night she was on guard, Putraka had flown a very, very long way,
not noticing where he was going, because he was thinking so earnestly of
Patala. When at last he flew in at her window, he was so weary that he sank
down on a couch and fell fast asleep. The princess too was tired, because she
had lain awake talking to her lover so many nights running that she had had
hardly any rest. So when the lady peeped through the slit in the tapestry,
there, by the light of the night lamp, she saw the young king lying
unconscious, whilst the princess also was asleep.

Very cautiously the attendant crept to the side of Putraka, and took a long,
long look at him. She noticed how handsome he was, and that he was dressed in
beautiful clothes. She especially remarked the turban he wore, because in India
the rank to which men belong is shown by the kind of turbans they wear.
“This is no common man,” she thought, “but a prince or king
in disguise. What shall I do now? I will not raise an alarm which might lead to
this beautiful young lover being killed and the heart of my dear mistress
broken.”

27. If you had been the lady who found Putraka in Patala’s room, what
would you have done?

28. What could Putraka have done to guard against being discovered?

CHAPTER XV

After hesitating a long time, the lady made up her mind that she would only put
some mark in the turban of Putraka, so that he could be known again, and let
him escape that night at least. So she stole back to her room, fetched a tiny
brooch, and fastened it in the folds of the turban, where the wearer was not
likely to notice it himself. This done, she went back to listen at the door.

It was nearly morning when Putraka woke up, very much surprised at finding
himself lying on the couch, for he did not remember throwing himself down on
it. Starting up, he woke Patala, who was terribly frightened, for she expected
her ladies to come in any minute to help her to dress. She entreated Putraka to
make himself invisible and fly away at once. He did so; and, as usual, wandered
about until the time should come to go back to the palace. But he still felt
too tired to fly, and instead walked about in the town belonging to
Patala’s father.

The lady who had been on guard had half a mind to tell her mistress that her
secret was discovered. But before she could get a chance to do so, she was sent
for by the king, who asked her if she had seen or heard anything during the
night. She tried very hard to escape from betraying Patala; but she hesitated
so much in her answers that the king guessed there was something she wanted to
hide, and told her, if she did not reveal the whole truth, he would have her
head shaved and send her to prison. So she told how she had found a handsome
man, beautifully dressed, fast asleep in Patala’s room; but she did not
believe her mistress knew anything about it, because she too was asleep.

The king was of course in a terrible rage, and the lady was afraid he would
order her to be punished; but he only went on questioning her angrily about
what the man was like, so that he might be found and brought before him. Then
the lady confessed that she had put the brooch in the turban, comforting
herself with the thought that, when the king saw Putraka and knew that Patala
loved him, he might perhaps relent and let them be married.

When the king heard about the brooch, he was greatly pleased; and instead of
ordering the lady to be punished, he told her that, when the man who had dared
to approach his daughter was found, he would give her a great reward. He then
sent forth hundreds of spies to hunt for the man with a brooch in his turban,
and Putraka was very soon found, strolling quietly about in the market-place.
He was so taken by surprise that, though he had his staff in his hand and his
shoes and bowl in the pocket of his robes, he had no time to write his wishes
with the staff, or to put on the shoes, so he was obliged to submit to be
dragged to the palace. He did all he could to persuade those who had found him
to let him go, telling them he was a king and would reward them well. They only
laughed at him and dragged him along with them to the palace, where he was at
once taken before the king, who was sitting on his throne, surrounded by his
court, in a great hall lined with soldiers. The big windows were wide open; and
noticing this, Putraka did not feel at all afraid, for he knew he had only to
slip on his shoes and fly out of one of the windows, if he could not persuade
the king to let him marry Patala. So he stood quietly at the foot of the
throne, and looked bravely into the face of his dear one’s father.

This only made the king more angry, and he began calling Putraka all manner of
names and asking him how he dared to enter the room of his daughter. Putraka
answered quietly that he loved Patala and wished to marry her. He was himself a
king, and would give her all she had been used to. But it was all no good, for
it only made the king more angry. He rose from his throne, and stretching out
his hand, he cried:

“Let him be scourged and placed in close confinement!”

Then Putraka with his staff wrote rapidly on the ground his wish that no one
should be able to touch him, and stooping down slipped on his magic shoes. The
king, the courtiers and the soldiers all remained exactly as they were, staring
at him in astonishment, as he rose up in the air and flew out of one of the
windows. Straight away he sped to the palace of Patala and into her room, where
she was pacing to and fro in an agony of anxiety about him; for she had heard
of his having been taken prisoner and feared that her father would order him to
be killed.

29. What do you think would have been the best thing for the king to do when
Putraka was brought before him?

30. If Putraka had not had his shoes with him, how could he have escaped from
the king’s palace?

CHAPTER XVI

Great indeed was the delight of Patala when her beloved Putraka once more flew
in at her window; but she was still trembling with fear for him and begged him
to go away back to his own land as quickly as possible.

“I will not go without you,” replied Putraka. “Wrap yourself
up warmly, for it is cold flying through the air, and we will go away together,
and your cruel father shall never see you again.”

Patala wept at hearing this, for it seemed terrible to her to have to choose
between the father she loved and Putraka. But in the end her lover got his own
way, and just as those who were seeking him were heard approaching, he seized
his dear one in his arms and flew off with her. He did not return to his own
land even then, but directed his course to the Ganges, the grand and beautiful
river which the people of India love and worship, calling it their Mother
Ganga. By the banks of the sacred stream the lovers rested, and with the aid of
his magic bowl Putraka soon had a good and delicious meal ready, which they
both enjoyed very much. As they ate, they consulted together what they had
better do now, and Patala, who was as clever as she was beautiful, said:

“Would it not be a good thing to build a new city in this lovely place?
You could do it with your marvellous staff, could you not?”

“Why, of course, I could,” said Putraka laughing. “Why
didn’t I think of it myself?” Very soon a wonderful town rose up,
which the young king wished to be as much as possible like the home he had
left, only larger and fuller of fine buildings than it. When the town was made,
he wished it to be full of happy inhabitants, with temples in which they might
worship, priests to teach them how to be good, markets in which food and all
that was needed could be bought, tanks and rivulets full of pure water,
soldiers and officers to defend the gates, elephants on which he and his wife
could ride, everything in fact that the heart of man or woman could desire.

The first thing Putraka and Patala did after the rise of their own town, which
they named Patali-Putra^[1]
after themselves, was to get married in accordance with the rites of their
religion; and for many, many years they reigned wisely over their people, who
loved them and their children with all their hearts. Amongst the attendants on
those children was the old woman who had shown kindness to Putraka in his
loneliness and trouble. For when he told Patala the story of his life, she
reproached him for his neglect of one to whom he owed so much. She made him
feel quite ashamed of himself, and he flew away and brought the dear old lady
back with him, to her very great delight.

31. Which of the people in this story do you like best?

32. Do you think Putraka deserved all the happiness which came to him through
stealing the wand, the shoes and the bowl?

33. Can you suggest any way in which he could have atoned for the wrong he did
to the brothers whose property he took?

34. What is the chief lesson to be learnt from this story?

V.
The Jewelled Arrow.

CHAPTER I

In the city of Vardhamana in India there lived a powerful king named
Vira-Bhuja, who, as was the custom in his native land, had many wives, each of
whom had several sons. Of all his wives this king loved best the one named
Guna-Vara, and of all his sons her youngest-born, called Sringa-Bhuja, was his
favourite. Guna-Vara was not only very beautiful but very good. She was so
patient that nothing could make her angry, so unselfish that she always thought
of others before herself, and so wise that she was able to understand how
others were feeling, however different their natures were from her own.

Sringa-Bhuja, the son of Guna-Vara, resembled his mother in her beauty and her
unselfishness; he was also very strong and very clever, whilst his brothers
were quite unlike him. They wanted to have everything their own way, and they
were very jealous indeed of their father’s love for him. They were always
trying to do him harm, and though they often quarrelled amongst themselves,
they would band together to try and hurt him.

It was very much the same with the king’s wives. They hated Guna-Vara,
because their husband loved her more than he did them, and they constantly came
to him with stories they had made up of the wicked things she had done. Amongst
other things they told the king that Guna-Vara did not really love him but
cared more for some one else than she did for him. The most bitter of all
against her was the wife called Ayasolekha, who was cunning enough to know what
sort of tale the king was likely to believe. The very fact that Vira-Bhuja
loved Guna-Vara so deeply made him more ready to think that perhaps after all
she did not return his affection, and he longed to find out the truth. So he in
his turn made up a story, thinking by its means to find out how she felt for
him. He therefore went one day to her private apartments, and having sent all
her attendants away, he told her he had some very sad news for her which he had
heard from his chief astrologer. Astrologers, you know, are wise men, who are
supposed to be able to read the secrets of the stars, and learn from them
things which are hidden from ordinary human beings. Guna-Vara therefore did not
doubt that what her husband was about to tell her was true, and she listened
eagerly, her heart beating very fast in her fear that some trouble was coming
to those she loved.

Great indeed was her sorrow and surprise, when Vira-Bhuja went on to say that
the astrologer had told him that a terrible misfortune threatened him and his
kingdom and the only way to prevent it was to shut Guna-Vara up in prison for
the rest of her life. The poor queen could hardly believe that she had heard
rightly. She knew she had done no wrong, and could not understand how putting
her in prison could help anybody. She was quite sure that her husband loved
her, and no words could have expressed her pain at the thought of being sent
away from him and her dear son. Yet she made no resistance, not even asking
Vira-Bhuja to let her see Sringa-Bhuja again. She just bowed her beautiful head
and said: “Be it unto me as my Lord wills. If he wishes my death, I am
ready to lay down my life.”

This submission made the king feel even more unhappy than before. He longed to
take his wife in his arms and tell her he would never let her go; and perhaps
if she had looked at him then, he would have seen all her love for him in her
eyes, but she remained perfectly still with bowed head, waiting to hear what
her fate was to be. Then the thought entered Vira-Bhuja’s mind:
“She is afraid to look at me: what Ayasolekha said was true.”

1. Can true love suspect the loved one of evil?

2. Is true love ever jealous?

CHAPTER II

So the king summoned his guards and ordered them to take his wife to a strong
prison and leave her there. She went with them without making any resistance,
only turning once to look lovingly at her husband as she was led away.
Vira-Bhuja returned to his own palace and had not been there very long when he
got a message from Ayasolekha, begging him to give her an interview, for she
had something of very great importance to tell him. The king consented at once,
thinking to himself, “perhaps she has found out that what she told me
about my dear Guna-Vara is not true.”

Great then was his disappointment when the wicked woman told him she had
discovered a plot against his life. The son of Guna-Vara and some of the chief
men of the kingdom, she said, had agreed together to kill him, so that
Sringa-Bhuja might reign in his stead. She and some of the other wives had
overheard conversations between them, and were terrified lest their beloved
Lord should be hurt. The young prince, she declared, had had some trouble in
persuading the nobles to help him, but he had succeeded at last.

Vira-Bhuja simply could not believe this story, for he trusted his son as much
as he loved him; and he sent the mischief maker away, telling her not to dare
to enter his presence again. For all that he could not get the matter out of
his head. He had Sringa-Bhuja carefully watched; and as nothing against him was
found out, he was beginning to feel more easy in his mind, and even to think of
going to see Guna-Vara in her prison to ask her to confide in him, when
something happened which led him to fear that after all his dear son was not
true to him. This was what made him uneasy. He had a wonderful arrow, set with
precious jewels, which had been given to him by a magician, and had the power
of hitting without fail whatever it was aimed at from however great a distance.
The very day he had meant to visit his ill-treated wife, he missed this arrow
from the place in which he kept it concealed. This distressed him very much;
and after seeking it in vain, he summoned all those who were employed in the
palace to his presence, and asked if any of them knew anything about the arrow.
He promised that he would forgive any one who helped him to get it back, even
if it were the thief himself; but added that, if it was not found in three
days, he would have all the servants beaten until the one who had stolen it
confessed.

3. Do you think this was the best way to find out who had taken the arrow?

4. How would you have set about learning the truth if you had been the king?

CHAPTER III

Now the fact of the matter was that Ayasolekha, who had told the wicked story
about Guna-Vara, knew where the king kept the arrow, had taken it to her
private rooms, and had sent for her own sons and those of the other wives, all
of whom hated Sringa-Bhuja, to tell them of a plot to get their brother into
disgrace. “You know,” she said to them, “how much better your
father loves Sringa-Bhuja than he does any of you; and that, when he dies, he
will leave the kingdom and all his money to him. Now I will help you to prevent
this by getting rid of Sringa-Bhuja.

“You must have a great shooting match, in which your brother will be
delighted to take part, for he is very proud of his skill with the bow and
arrow. On the day of the match, I will send for him and give him the jewelled
arrow belonging to your father to shoot with, telling him the king had said I
might lend it to him. Your father will then think he stole it and order him to
be killed.”

The brothers were all delighted at what they thought a very clever scheme, and
did just what Ayasolekha advised. When the day came, great crowds assembled to
see the shooting at a large target set up near the palace. The king himself and
all his court were watching the scene from the walls, and it was difficult for
the guards to keep the course clear. The brothers, beginning at the eldest, all
pretended to try and hit the target; but none of them really wished to succeed,
because they thought that, when Sringa-Bhuja’s turn came, as their
father’s youngest son, he would win the match with the jewelled arrow.
Then the king would order him to be brought before him, and he would be
condemned to death or imprisonment for life.

Now, as very often happens, something no one in the least expected upset the
carefully planned plot. Just as Sringa-Bhuja was about to shoot at the target,
a big crane flew on to the ground between him and it, so that it was impossible
for him to take proper aim. The brothers, seeing the bird and anxious to shoot
it for themselves, all began to clamour that they should be allowed to shoot
again. Nobody made any objection, and Sringa-Bhuja stood aside, with the
jewelled arrow in the bow, waiting to see what they would do, but feeling sure
that he would be the one to kill the bird. Brother after brother tried, but the
great creature still remained untouched, when a travelling mendicant stepped
forward and cried aloud:

“That is no bird, but an evil magician who has taken that form to deceive
you all. If he is not killed before he takes his own form again, he will bring
misery and ruin upon this town and the surrounding country.”

You know perhaps that mendicants or beggars in India are often holy men whose
advice even kings are glad to listen to; so that, when everyone heard what this
beggar said, there was great excitement and terror. For many were the stories
told of the misfortunes Rakshas or evil magicians had brought on other cities.
The brothers all wanted to try their luck once more, but the beggar checked
them, saying:

“No, no. Where is your youngest brother Sringa-Bhuja? He alone will be
able to save your homes, your wives and your children, from destruction,”

Then Sringa-Bhuja came forward; and as the sun flashed upon the jewels in the
stolen arrow, revealing to the watching king that it was his own beloved son
who had taken it, the young prince let it fly straight for the bird. It wounded
but did not kill the crane, which flew off with the arrow sticking in its
breast, the blood dripping from it in its flight, which became gradually slower
and slower. At the sight of the bird going off with the precious jewelled
arrow, the king was filled with rage, and sent orders that Sringa-Bhuja should
be fetched to his presence immediately. But before the messengers reached him,
he had started in pursuit of the bird, guided by the blood-drops on the ground.

5. Did the brothers show wisdom in the plot they laid against their brother?

6. What do you think from this story, so far as you have read it, were the
chief qualities of Sringa-Bhuja?

CHAPTER IV

As Sringa-Bhuja sped along after the crane, the beggar made some strange signs
in the air with the staff he used to help him along; and such clouds of dust
arose that no one could see in which direction the young prince had gone. The
brothers and Ayasolekha were very much dismayed at the way things had turned
out, and greatly feared that the king’s anger would vent itself on them,
now that Sringa-Bhuja had disappeared. Vira-Bhuja did send for them, and asked
them many questions; but they all kept the secret of how Sringa-Bhuja had got
the arrow, and promised to do all they could to help to get it back. Again the
king thought he would go and see the mother of his dear youngest son; but again
something held him back, and poor Guna-Vara was left alone, no one ever going
near her except the gaoler who took her her daily food. After trying everything
possible to find out where Sringa-Bhuja had gone, the king began to show
special favour to another of his sons; and as the months passed by, it seemed
as if the young prince and the jewelled arrow were both forgotten.

Meanwhile Sringa-Bhuja travelled on and on in the track of the drops of blood,
till he came to the outskirts of a fine forest, through which many beaten paths
led to a very great city. He sat down to rest at the foot of a wide-spreading
tree, and was gazing up at the towers and pinnacles of the town, rising far
upwards towards the sky, when he had a feeling that he was no longer alone. He
was right: for, coming slowly along one of the paths, was a lovely young girl,
singing softly to herself in a beautiful voice. Her eyes were like those of a
young doe, and her features were perfect in their form and expression,
reminding Sringa-Bhuja of his mother, whom he was beginning to fear he would
never see again.

When the young girl was quite close to him, he startled her by saying,
“Can you tell me what is the name of this city?”

“Of course, I can,” she replied, “for I live in it. It is
called Dhuma-Pura, and it belongs to my father: he is a great magician named
Agni-Sikha, who loves not strangers. Now tell me who you are and whence you
come?”

Then Sringa-Bhuja told the maiden all about himself, and why he was wandering
so far from home. The girl, whose name was Rupa-Sikha, listened very
attentively; and when he came to the shooting of the crane, and how he had
followed the bleeding bird in the hope of getting back his father’s
jewelled arrow, she began to tremble.

“Alas, alas!” she said. “The bird you shot was my father, who
can take any form he chooses. He returned home but yesterday, and I drew the
arrow from his wound and dressed the hurt myself. He gave me the jewelled arrow
to keep, and I will never part with it. As for you, the sooner you depart the
better; for my father never forgives, and he is so powerful that you would have
no chance of escape if he knew you were here.”

Hearing this, Sringa-Bhuja became very sad, not because he was afraid of
Agni-Sikha, but because he knew that he already loved the fair maiden who stood
beside him, and was resolved to make her his wife. She too felt drawn towards
him and did not like to think of his going away. Besides this, she had much to
fear from her father, who was as cruel as he was mighty, and had caused the
death already of many lovers who had wished to marry her. She had never cared
for any of them, and had been content to live without a husband, spending her
life in wandering about near her home and winning the love of all who lived
near her, even that of the wild creatures of the forest, who would none of them
dream of hurting her. Often and often she stood between the wrath of her father
and those he wished to injure; for, wicked as he was, he loved her and wanted
her to be happy.

7. Do you think that a really wicked man is able to love any one truly?

8. What would have been the best thing for Sringa-Bhuja to do, when he found
out who the bird he had shot really was?

CHAPTER V

Rupa-Sikha did not take long to decide what was best for her to do. She said to
the prince, “I will give you back your golden arrow, and you must make
all possible haste out of our country before my father discovers you are
here.”

“No! no! no! a thousand times no!” cried the prince. “Now I
have once seen you, I can never, never leave you. Can you not learn to love me
and be my wife?” Then he fell prostrate at her feet, and looked up into
her face so lovingly that she could not resist him. She bent down towards him,
and the next moment they were clasped in each other’s arms, quite
forgetting all the dangers that threatened them. Rupa-Sikha was the first to
remember her father, and drawing herself away from her lover, she said to him:

“Listen to me, and I will tell you what we must do. My father is a
magician, it is true, but I am his daughter, and I inherit some of his powers.
If only you will promise to do exactly as I tell you, I think I may be able to
save you, and perhaps even become your wife. I am the youngest of a large
family and my father’s favourite. I will go and tell him that a great and
mighty prince, hearing of his wonderful gifts, has come to our land to ask for
an interview with him. Then I will tell him that I have seen you, fallen in
love with you, and want to marry you. He will be flattered to think his fame
has spread so far, and will want to see you, even if he refuses to let me be
your wife. I will lead you to his presence and leave you with him alone. If you
really love me, you will find the way to win his consent; but you must keep out
of his sight till I have prepared the way for you. Come with me now, and I will
show you a hiding-place.”

Rupa-Sikha then led the prince far away into the depths of the forest, and
showed him a large tree, the wide-spreading branches of which touched the
ground, completely hiding the trunk, in which there was an opening large enough
for a man to pass through. Steps cut in the inside of the trunk led down to a
wide space underground; and there the magician’s daughter told her lover
to wait for her return. “Before I go,” she said, “I will tell
you my own password, which will save you from death if you should be
discovered. It is LOTUS FLOWER; and everyone to whom you say it, will know that
you are under my protection.”

When Rupa-Sikha reached the palace she found her father in a very bad humour,
because she had not been to ask how the wound in his breast was getting on. She
did her best to make up for her neglect; and when she had dressed the wound
very carefully, she prepared a dainty meal for her father with her own hands,
waiting upon him herself whilst he ate it. All this pleased him, and he was in
quite an amiable mood when she said to him:

“Now I must tell you that I too have had an adventure. As I was gathering
herbs in the forest, I met a man I had never seen before, a tall handsome young
fellow looking like a prince, who told me he was seeking the palace of a great
and wonderful magician, of whose marvellous deeds he had heard. Who could that
magician have been but you, my father?” She added, “I told him I
was your daughter, and he entreated me to ask you to grant him an
interview.”

Agni-Sikha listened to all this without answering a word. He was pleased at
this fresh proof that his fame had spread far and wide; but he guessed at once
that Rupa-Sikha had not told him the whole truth. He waited for her to go on,
and as she said no more, he suddenly turned angrily upon her and in a loud
voice asked her:

“And what did my daughter answer?”

Then Rupa-Sikha knew that her secret had been discovered. And rising to her
full height, she answered proudly, “I told him I would seek you and ask
you to receive him. And now I will tell you, my father, that I have seen the
only man I will ever marry; and if you forbid me to do so, I will take my own
life, for I cannot live without him.”

“Send for the man immediately,” cried the magician, “and you
shall hear my answer when he appears before me.”

“I cannot send,” replied Rupa-Sikha, “for none knows where I
have left him; nor will I fetch him till you promise that no evil shall befall
him.”

At first Agni-Sikha laughed aloud and declared that he would do no such thing.
But his daughter was as obstinate as he was; and finding that he could not get
his own way unless he yielded to her, he said crossly:

“He shall keep his fine head on his shoulders, and leave the palace
alive; but that is all I will say.”

“But that is not enough,” said Rupa-Sikha. “Say after me,
Not a hair of his head shall be harmed, and I will treat him as an honoured
guest, or your eyes will never rest on him.”

At last the magician promised, thinking to himself that he would find some way
of disposing of Sringa-Bhuja, if he did not fancy him for a son-in-law. The
words she wanted to hear were hardly out of her father’s mouth before
Rupa-Sikha sped away, as if on the wings of the wind, full of hope that all
would be well. She found her lover anxiously awaiting her, and quickly
explained how matters stood. “You had better say nothing about me to my
father at first,” she said; “but only talk about him and all you
have heard of him. If only you could get him to like you and want to keep you
with him, it would help us very much. Then you could pretend that you must go
back to your own land; and rather than allow you to do so, he will be anxious
for us to be married and to live here with him.”

9. Do you think the advice Rupa-Sikha gave to Sringa-Bhuja was good?

10. Can you suggest anything else she might have done?

CHAPTER VI

Sringa-Bhuja loved Rupa-Sikha so much that he was ready to obey her in whatever
she asked. So he at once went with her to the palace. On every side he saw
signs of the strength and power of the magician. Each gate was guarded by tall
soldiers in shining armour, who saluted Rupa-Sikha but scowled fiercely at him.
He knew full well that, if he had tried to pass alone, they would have
prevented him from doing so. At last the two came to the great hall, where the
magician was walking backwards and forwards, working himself into a rage at
being kept waiting. Directly he looked at the prince, he knew him for the man
who had shot the jewelled arrow at him when he had taken the form of a crane,
and he determined that he would be revenged. He was too cunning to let
Sringa-Bhuja guess that he knew him, and pretended to be very glad to see him.
He even went so far as to say that he had long wished to find a prince worthy
to wed his youngest and favourite daughter. “You,” he added,
“seem to me the very man, young, handsome and—to judge from the
richness of your dress and jewels—able to give my beloved one all she
needs.”

The prince could hardly believe his ears, and Rupa-Sikha also was very much
surprised. She guessed however that her father had some evil purpose in what he
said, and looked earnestly at Sringa-Bhuja in the hope of making him
understand. But the prince was so overjoyed at the thought that she was to be
his wife that he noticed nothing. So when Agni-Sikha added, “I only make
one condition: you must promise that you will never disobey my commands, but do
whatever I tell you without a moment’s hesitation,” Sringa-Bhuja,
without waiting to think, said at once, “Only give me your daughter and I
will serve you in any way you wish.”

“That’s settled then!” cried the magician, and he clapped his
hands together. In a moment a number of attendants appeared, and their master
ordered them to lead the prince to the best apartments in the palace, to
prepare a bath for him, and do everything he asked them.

11. What great mistake did the prince make when he gave this promise?

12. What answer should he have made?

CHAPTER VII

As Sringa-Bhuja followed the servants, Rupa-Sikha managed to whisper to him,
“Beware! await a message from me!” When he had bathed and was
arraying himself in fresh garments provided by his host, waited on, hand and
foot, by servants who treated him with the greatest respect, a messenger
arrived, bearing a sealed letter which he reverently handed to the prince.
Sringa-Bhuja guessed at once from whom it came; and anxious to read it alone,
he hastily finished his toilette and dismissed the attendants.

“My beloved,” said the letter—which was, of course, from
Rupa-Sikha—“My father is plotting against you; and very foolish
were you to promise you would obey him in all things. I have ten sisters all
exactly like me, all wearing dresses and necklaces which are exact copies of
each other, so that few can tell me from the others. Soon you will be sent for
to the great Hall and we shall all be together there. My father will bid you
choose your bride from amongst us; and if you make a mistake all will be over
for us. But I will wear my necklace on my head instead of round my neck, and
thus will you know your own true love. And remember, my dearest, to obey no
future command without hearing from me, for I alone am able to outwit my
terrible father.”

Everything happened exactly as Rupa-Sikha described. The prince was sent for by
Agni-Sikha, who, as soon as he appeared, gave him a garland of flowers and told
him to place it round the neck of the maiden who was his promised bride.
Without a moment’s hesitation Sringa-Bhuja picked out the right sister;
and the magician, though inwardly enraged, pretended to be so delighted at this
proof of a lover’s clear-sightedness that he cried:

“You are the son-in-law for me! The wedding shall take place
to-morrow!”

13. Can you understand how it was that the magician did not notice the trick
Rupa-Sikha had played upon him?

14. What fault blinds people to the truth more than any other?

CHAPTER VIII

When Sringa-Bhuja heard what Agni-Sikha said, he was full of joy; but
Rupa-Sikha knew well that her father did not mean a word of it. She waited
quietly beside her lover, till the magician bade all the sisters but herself
leave the hall. Then the magician, with a very wicked look on his face, said:

“Before the ceremony there is just one little thing you must do for me,
dear son-in-law that is to be. Go outside the town, and near the most westerly
tower you will find a team of oxen and a plough awaiting you. Close to them is
a pile of three hundred bushels of sesame seed. This you must sow this very
day, or instead of a bridegroom you will be a dead man to-morrow.”

Great was the dismay of Sringa-Bhuja when he heard this. But Rupa-Sikha
whispered to him, “Fear not, for I will help you.” Sadly the prince
left the palace alone, to seek the field outside the city; the guards, who knew
he was the accepted lover of their favourite mistress, letting him pass
unhindered. There, sure enough, near the western tower were the oxen, the
plough and a great pile of seed. Never before had poor Sringa-Bhuja had to work
for himself, but his great love for Rupa-Sikha made him determine to do his
best. So he was about to begin to guide the oxen across the field, when,
behold, all was suddenly changed. Instead of an unploughed tract of land,
covered with weeds, was a field with rows and rows of regular furrows. The
piles of seed were gone, and flocks of birds were gathering in the hope of
securing some of it as it lay in the furrows.

As Sringa-Bhuja was staring in amazement at this beautiful scene, he saw
Rupa-Sikha, looking more lovely than ever, coming towards him. “Not in
vain,” she said to him, “am I my father’s daughter. I too
know how to compel even nature to do my will; but the danger is not over yet.
Go quickly back to the palace, and tell Agni-Sikha that his wishes are
fulfilled.”

15. Can the laws of nature ever really be broken?

16. What is the only way in which man can conquer nature?

CHAPTER IX

The magician was very angry indeed when he heard that the field was ploughed
and the seed sown. He knew at once that some magic had been at work, and
suspected that Rupa-Sikha was the cause of his disappointment. Without a
moment’s hesitation he said to the prince: “No sooner were you gone
than I decided not to have that seed sown. Go back at once, and pile it up
where it was before.”

This time Sringa-Bhuja felt no fear or hesitation, for he was sure of the power
and will to help him of his promised bride. So back he went to the field, and
there he found the whole vast space covered with millions and millions of ants,
busily collecting the seed and piling it up against the wall of the town. Again
Rupa-Sikha came to cheer him, and again she warned him that their trials were
not yet over. She feared, she said, that her father might prove stronger than
herself; for he had many allies at neighbouring courts ready to help him in his
evil purposes. “Whatever else he orders you to do, you must see me
before you leave the palace. I will send my faithful messenger to appoint a
meeting in some secret place.”

Agni-Sikha was not much surprised when the prince told him that his last order
had been obeyed, and thought to himself, “I must get this tiresome fellow
out of my domain, where that too clever child of mine will not be able to help
him.” “Well,” he said, “I suppose the wedding must take
place to-morrow after all, for I am a man of my word. We must now set about
inviting the guests. You shall have the pleasure of doing this yourself: then
my friends will know beforehand what a handsome young son-in-law I shall have.
The first person to summon to the wedding is my brother Dhuma Sikha, who has
taken up his abode in a deserted temple a few miles from here. You must ride at
once to that temple, rein up your steed opposite it, and cry, ‘Dhuma
Sikha, your brother Agni-Sikha has sent me hither to invite you to witness my
marriage with his daughter Rupa-Sikha to-morrow. Come without delay!’
Your message given, ride back to me; and I will tell you what farther tasks you
must perform before the happy morrow dawns.”

When Sringa-Bhuja left the palace, he knew not where to seek a horse to bear
him on this new errand. But as he was nearing the gateway by which he had gone
forth to sow the field with seed, a handsome boy approached him and said,
“If my lord will follow me, I will tell him what to do.” Somehow
the voice sounded familiar; and when the guards were left far enough behind to
be out of hearing, the boy looked up at Sringa-Bhuja with a smile that revealed
Rupa-Sikha herself. “Come with me,” she said; and taking his hand,
she led him to a tree beneath which stood a noble horse, richly caparisoned,
which pawed the ground and whinnied to its mistress, as she drew near.

“You must ride this horse,” said Rupa-Sikha, “who will obey
you if you but whisper in his ear; and you must take earth, water, wood and
fire with you, which I will give you. You must go straight to the temple, and
when you have called out your message, turn without a moment’s delay, and
ride for your life as swiftly as your steed will go, looking behind you all the
time. No guidance will be necessary; for Marut—that is my horse’s
name—knows well what he has to do.”

Then Rupa-Sikha gave Sringa-Bhuja a bowl of earth, a jar of water, a bundle of
thorns and a brazier full of burning charcoal, hanging them by strong thongs
upon the front of his saddle so that he could reach them easily. “My
father,” she told him, “has given my uncle instructions to kill
you, and he will follow you upon his swift Arab steed. When you hear him behind
you, fling earth in his path; if that does not stop him, pour out some of the
water; and if he still perseveres, scatter the burning charcoal before
him.”

17. Can you discover any hidden meaning in the use of earth, water, thorns and
fire, to stop the course of the wicked magician?

18. Do you think the prince loved Rupa-Sikha better than he loved himself?

CHAPTER X

Away went the prince after he had received these instructions; and very soon he
found himself opposite the temple, with the images of three of the gods
worshipped in India to prove that it had been a sanctuary before the magician
took up his abode in it. Directly Sringa-Bhuja shouted out his message to
Dhuma-Sikha, the wicked dweller in the temple came rushing forth from the
gateway, mounted on a huge horse, which seemed to be belching forth flames from
its nostrils as it bounded along. For one terrible moment Sringa-Bhuja feared
that he was lost; but Marut, putting forth all his strength, kept a little in
advance of the enemy, giving the prince time to scatter earth behind him.
Immediately a great mountain rose up, barring the road, and Sringa-Bhuja felt
that he was saved. He was mistaken: for, as he looked back, he saw Dhuma-Sikha
coming over the top of the mountain. The next moment the magician was close
upon him. So he emptied his bowl of water: and, behold, a huge river with great
waves hid pursuer and pursued from each other. Even this did not stop the
mighty Arab horse, which swam rapidly across, the rider loudly shouting out
orders to the prince to stop. When the prince heard the hoofs striking on the
dry ground behind him again, he threw out the thorns, and a dense wood sprouted
up as if by magic, which for a few moments gave fresh hope of safety to
Sringa-Bhuja; for it seemed as if even the powerful magician would be unable to
get through it. He did succeed however; but his clothes were nearly torn off
his back, and his horse was bleeding from many wounds made by the cruel thorns.
Sringa-Bhuja too was getting weary, and remembered that he had only one more
chance of checking his relentless enemy. He could almost feel the breath of the
panting steed as it drew near; and with a loud cry to his beloved Rupa-Sikha,
he threw the burning charcoal on the road. In an instant the grass by the
wayside, the trees overshadowing it, and the magic wood which had sprung from
the thorns, were alight, burning so fiercely that no living thing could
approach them safely. The wicked magician was beaten at last, and was soon
himself fleeing away, as fast as he could, with the flames following after him
as if they were eager to consume him.

Whether his enemy ever got back to his temple, Sringa-Bhuja never knew.
Exhausted with all he had been through, the young prince was taken back to the
palace by the faithful Marut, and there he found his dear Rupa-Sikha awaiting
him. She told him that her father had promised her that, if the prince came
back, he would oppose her marriage no longer. “For,” he said,
“if he can escape your uncle, he must be more than mortal, and worthy
even of my daughter.” “He does not in the least expect to see you
again,” added Rupa-Sikha; “and even if he allows us to marry, he
will never cease to hate you; for I am quite sure he knows that you shot the
jewelled arrow at him when he was in the form of a crane. If I ever am your
wife, he will try to punish you through me. But have no fear: I shall know how
to manage him. Fresh powers have been lately given to me by another uncle whose
magic is stronger than that of any of my other relations.”

When Sringa-Bhuja had bathed and rested, he robed himself once more in the
garments he had worn the day he first saw Rupa-Sikha; and together the lovers
went to the great hall to seek an interview with Agni-Sikha. The magician, who
had made quite sure that he had now got rid of the unwelcome suitor for his
daughter’s hand, could not contain his rage, at seeing him walk in with
her as if the two were already wedded.

He stamped about, pouring out abuse, until he had quite exhausted himself, the
lovers looking on quietly without speaking. At last, coming close to them,
Agni-Sikha shouted, in a loud harsh voice: “So you have not obeyed my
orders. You have not bid my brother to the wedding. Your life is forfeit, and
you will die to-morrow instead of marrying Rupa-Sikha. Describe the temple in
which Dhuma Sikha lives and the appearance of its owner.”

Then Sringa-Bhuja gave such an exact account of the temple, naming the gods
whose images still adorned it, and of the terrible man riding the noble steed
who had pursued him, that the magician was convinced against his will; and
knowing that he must keep his word to Rupa-Sikha, he gave his consent for the
preparations for the marriage on the morrow to begin.

19. What is your opinion of the character of Agni-Sikha?

20. Do you think he was at all justified in the way in which he treated his
daughter and Sringa-Bhuja?

CHAPTER XI

The marriage was celebrated the next day with very great pomp; and a beautiful
suite of rooms was given to the bride and bridegroom, who could not in spite of
this feel safe or happy, because they knew full well that Agni-Sikha hated
them. The prince soon began to feel home-sick and anxious to introduce his
beautiful wife to his own people. He remembered that he had left his dear
mother in prison, and reproached himself for having forgotten her for so long.
So he said to Rupa-Sikha:

“Let us go, beloved, to my native city, Vardhamana. My heart yearns after
my dear ones there, and I would fain introduce you to them.”

“My lord,” replied Rupa-Sikha, “I will go with you whither
you will, were it even to the ends of the earth. But we must not let my father
guess we mean to go; for he would forbid us to leave the country and set spies
to watch our every movement. We will steal away secretly, riding together on my
faithful Marut and taking with us only what we can carry.” “And my
jewelled arrow,” said the prince, “that I may give it back to my
father and explain to him how I lost it. Then shall I be restored to his
favour, and maybe he will forgive my mother also.”

“Have no fear,” answered Rupa-Sikha: “all will surely go well
with us. Forget not that new powers have been given to me, which will save us
from my father and aid me to rescue my dear one’s mother from her evil
fate.”

Before the dawn broke on the next day, the two set forth unattended, Marut
seeming to take pride in his double burden and bearing them along so swiftly
that they had all but reached the bounds of the country under the dominion of
Agni-Sikha as the sun rose. Just as they thought they were safe from pursuit,
they heard a loud rushing noise behind; and looking round, they saw the father
of the bride close upon them on his Arab steed, with sword uplifted in his hand
to strike. “Fear not,” whispered Rupa-Sikha to her husband.
“I will show you now what I can do.” And waving her arms to and
fro, as she muttered some strange words, she changed herself into an old woman
and Sringa-Bhuja into an old man, whilst Marut became a great pile of wood by
the road-side.

When the angry father reached the spot, the bride and bridegroom were busily
gathering sticks to add to the pile, seemingly too absorbed in their work to
take any notice of the angry magician, who shouted out to them:

“Have you seen a man and a woman pass along this way?”

The old woman straightened herself, and peering, up into his face, said:

“No; we are too busy over our work to notice anything else.”

“And what, pray, are you doing in my wood?” asked Agni-Sikha.

“We are helping to collect the fuel for the pyre of the great magician
Agni-Sikha,” answered Rupa-Sikha. “Do you not know that he died
yesterday?”

The Hindus of India do not bury but burn the dead; so that it was quite a
natural thing for the people of the land over which the magician ruled to
collect the materials for the pyre or heap of wood on which his body would be
laid to be burnt. What surprised Agni-Sikha, and in fact nearly took his breath
away, was to be quietly told that he was dead. He began to think that he was
dreaming, and said to himself, “I cannot really be dead without knowing
it, so I must be asleep.” And he quietly turned his horse round and rode
slowly home again. This was just what his daughter wanted; and as soon as he
was out of sight, she turned herself, her husband and Marut, into their natural
forms again, laughing merrily, as she did so, at the thought of the ease with
which she had got rid of her father.

21. Do you think it was clever of Rupa-Sikha to make up this story?

22. Do you think it is better to believe all that you are told or to be more
ready to doubt when anything you hear seems to be unusual?

CHAPTER XII

Once more the bride and bridegroom set forth on their way, and once more they
soon heard Agni-Sikha coming after them. For when he got back to his palace,
and the servants hastened out to take his horse, he guessed that a trick had
been played on him. He did not even dismount, but just turned his horse’s
head round and galloped back again. “If ever,” he thought to
himself, “I catch those two young people, I’ll make them wish they
had obeyed me. Yes, they shall suffer for it. I am not going to stand being
defied like this.”

This time Rupa-Sikha contented herself with making her husband and Marut
invisible, whilst she changed herself into a letter-carrier, hurrying along the
road as if not a moment was to be lost. She took no notice of her father, till
he reined up his steed and shouted to her:

“Have you seen a man and woman on horseback pass by?”

“No, indeed,” she said: “I have a very important letter to
deliver, and could think of nothing but making all the haste possible.”

“And what is this important letter about?” asked Agni-Sikha.
“Can you tell me that?”

“Oh, yes, I can tell you that,” she said. “But where can you
have been, not to have heard the terrible news about the ruler of this
land?”

“You can’t tell me anything I don’t know about him,”
answered the magician, “for he is my greatest friend.”

“Then you know that he is dying from a wound he got in a battle with his
enemies only yesterday. I am to take this letter to his brother Dhuma-Sikha,
bidding him come to see him before the end.”

Again Agni-Sikha wondered if he were dreaming, or if he were under some strange
spell and did not really know who he was? Being able, as he was, to cast spells
on other people, he was ready to fancy the same thing had befallen him. He said
nothing when he heard that he was wounded, and was about to turn back again
when Rupa-Sikha said to him:

“As you are on horseback and can get to Dhuma-Sikha’s temple
quicker than I can, will you carry the message of his brother’s
approaching death to him for me, and bid him make all possible haste if he
would see him alive?”

This was altogether too much for the magician, who became sure that there was
something very wrong about him. He knew he was not wounded or dying, but he
thought he must be ill of fever, fancying he heard what he did not. He stared
fixedly at his daughter, and she stared up at him, half-afraid he might find
out who she was, but he never guessed.

“Do your own errands,” he said at last; and slashing his poor
innocent horse with his whip, he wheeled round and dashed home again as fast as
he could. Again his servants ran out to receive him, and he gloomily
dismounted, telling them to send his chief councillor to him in his private
apartments. Shut up with him, he poured out all his troubles, and the
councillor advised him to see his physician without any delay, for he felt sure
that these strange fancies were caused by illness.

The doctor, when he came, was very much puzzled, but he looked as wise as he
could, ordered perfect rest and all manner of disagreeable medicines. He was
very much surprised at the change he noticed in his patient, who, instead of
angrily declaring that there was nothing the matter with him, was evidently in
a great fright about his health. He shut himself up for many days, and it was a
long time before he got over the shock he had received, and then it was too
late for him to be revenged or the lovers.

23. Can you explain what casting a spell means?

24. Can you give an instance of a spell being cast on any one you have heard
of?

CHAPTER XIII

Having really got rid of Agni-Sikha, Rupa-Sikha and her husband were very soon
out of his reach and in the country belonging to Sringa-Bhuja’s father,
who had bitterly mourned the loss of his favourite son. When the news was
brought to him that two strangers, a handsome young man and a beautiful woman,
who appeared to be husband and wife, had entered his capital, he hastened forth
to meet them, hoping that perhaps they could give him news of Sringa-Bhuja.
What was his joy when he recognised his dear son, holding the jewelled arrow,
which had led him into such trouble, in his right hand, as he guided Marut with
his left! The king flung himself from his horse, and Sringa-Bhuja, giving the
reins to Rupa-Sikha, also dismounted. The next moment he was in his
father’s arms, everything forgotten and forgiven in the happy reunion.

Great was the rejoicing over Sringa-Bhuja’s return and hearty was the
welcome given to his beautiful bride, who quickly won all hearts but those of
the wicked wives and sons who had tried to harm her husband and his mother.
They feared the anger of the king, when he found out how they had deceived him,
and they were right to fear. Sringa-Bhuja’s very first act was to plead
for his mother to be set free. He would not tell any of his adventures, he
said, till she could hear them too; and the king, full of remorse for the way
he had treated her, went with him to the prison in which she had been shut up
all this time. What was poor Guna-Vara’s joy, when the two entered the
place in which she had shed so many tears! She could not at first believe her
eyes or ears, but soon she realised that her sufferings were indeed over. She
could not be quite happy till her beloved husband said he knew she had never
loved any one but him. She had been accused falsely, she said, and she wanted
the woman who had told a lie about her to be made to own the truth.

This was done in the presence of the whole court, and when judgment had been
passed upon Ayasolekha, the brothers of Sringa-Bhuja were also brought before
their father, who charged them with having deceived him. They too were
condemned, and all the culprits would have been taken to prison and shut up for
the rest of their lives, if those they had injured had not pleaded for their
forgiveness. Guna-Vara and her son prostrated themselves at the foot of the
throne, and would not rise till they had won pardon for their enemies.
Ayasolekha and the brothers were allowed to go free; but Sringa-Bhuja, though
he was the youngest of all the princes, was proclaimed heir to the crown after
his father’s death. His brothers, however, never ceased to hate him; and
when he came to the throne, they gave him a great deal of trouble. He had many
years of happiness with his wife and parents before that, and never regretted
the mistake about the jewelled arrow; since but for it he would, he knew, never
have seen his beloved Rupa-Sikha.

25. What is the chief lesson to be learnt from this story?

26. Do you think it was good for those who had told lies about Guna-Vara and
her son to be forgiven so easily?

27. Can you give any instances of good coming out of evil and of evil coming
out of what seemed good?

28. Do you think Rupa-Sikha deserved all the happiness that came to her?

VI.
The Beetle and the Silken Thread.^[2]

CHAPTER I

The strange adventures related in the story of the Beetle and the Silken Thread
took place in the town of Allahabad, “the City of God,” so called
because it is situated near the point of meeting of the two sacred rivers of
India, the Ganges, which the Hindus lovingly call Mother Ganga because they
believe its waters can wash away their sins, and the Jumna, which they consider
scarcely less holy.

The ruler of Allahabad was a very selfish and hot-tempered Raja named Surya
Pratap, signifying “Powerful as the Sun,” who expected everybody to
obey him without a moment’s delay, and was ready to punish in a very
cruel manner those who hesitated to do so. He would never listen to a word of
explanation, or own that he had been mistaken, even when he knew full well that
he was in the wrong. He had a mantri, that is to say, a chief vizier or
officer, whom he greatly trusted, and really seemed to be fond of, for he liked
to have him always near him. The vizier was called Dhairya-Sila, or “the
Patient One,” because he never lost his temper, no matter what
provocation he received. He had a beautiful house, much money and many jewels,
carriages to drive about in, noble horses to ride and many servants to wait
upon him, all given to him by his master. But what he loved best of all was his
faithful wife, Buddhi-Mati, or “the Sensible One,” whom he had
chosen for himself, and who would have died for him.

Many of the Raja’s subjects were jealous of Dhairya-Sila, and constantly
brought accusations against him, of none of which his master took any notice,
except to punish those who tried to set him against his favourite. It really
seemed as if nothing would ever bring harm to Dhairya-Sila; but he often told
his wife that such good fortune was not likely to last, and that she must be
prepared for a change before long.

It turned out that he was right. For one day Surya Pratap ordered him to do
what he considered would be a shameful deed. He refused; telling his master
that he was wrong to think of such a thing, and entreating him to give up his
purpose. “All your life long,” he said, “you will wish you
had listened to me; for your conscience will never let you rest!”

On hearing these brave words, Surya Pratap flew into a terrible rage, summoned
his guards, and ordered them to take Dhairya-Sila outside the city to a very
lofty tower, and leave him at the top of it, without shelter from the sun and
with nothing to eat or drink. The guards were at first afraid to touch the
vizier, remembering how others had been punished for only speaking against him.
Seeing their unwillingness, the Raja got more and more angry; but Dhairya-Sila
himself kept quite calm, and said to the soldiers:

“I go with you gladly. It is for the master to command and for me to
obey.”

1. What is the best way to learn to keep calm in an emergency?

2. Why does too much power have a bad influence on those who have it?

CHAPTER II

The guards were relieved to find they need not drag the vizier away; for they
admired his courage and felt sure that the Raja would soon find he could not
get on without him. It might go hardly with them if he suffered harm at their
hands. So they only closed in about him; and holding himself very upright,
Dhairya-Sila walked to the tower as if he were quite glad to go. In his heart
however he knew full well that it would need all his skill to escape with his
life.

When her husband did not come home at night, Buddhi-Mati was very much
distressed. She guessed at once that something had gone wrong, and set forth to
try and find out what had happened. This was easy enough; for as she crept
along, with her veil closely held about her lest she should be recognised, she
passed groups of people discussing the terrible fate that had befallen the
favourite. She decided that she must wait until midnight, when the streets
would be deserted and she could reach the tower unnoticed. It was almost dark
when she got there, but in the dim light of the stars she made out the form of
him she loved better than herself, leaning over the edge of the railing at the
top.

“Is my dear lord still alive?” she whispered, “and is there
anything I can do to help him?”

“You can do everything that is needed to help me,” answered
Dhairya-Sila quietly, “if you only obey every direction I give you. Do
not for one moment suppose that I am in despair. I am more powerful even now
than my master, who has but shown his weakness by attempting to harm me. Now
listen to me. Come to-morrow night at this very hour, bringing with you the
following things: first, a beetle; secondly, sixty yards of the finest silk
thread, as thin as a spider’s web; thirdly, sixty yards of cotton thread,
as thin as you can get it, but very strong; fourthly, sixty yards of good stout
twine; fifthly, sixty yards of rope, strong enough to carry my weight; and
last, but certainly not least, one drop of the purest bees’ honey.”

3. Do you think the vizier thought of all these things before or after he was
taken to the tower?

4. What special quality did he display in the way in which he faced his
position on the tower?

CHAPTER III

Buddhi-Mati listened very attentively to these strange instructions, and began
to ask questions about them. “Why do you want the beetle? Why do you want
the honey?” and so on. But her husband checked her. “I have no
strength to waste in explanations,” he said. “Go home in peace,
sleep well, and dream of me.” So the anxious wife went meekly away; and
early the next day she set to work to obey the orders she had received. She had
some trouble in obtaining fine enough silk, so very, very thin it had to be,
like a spider’s web; but the cotton, twine and rope were easily bought;
and to her surprise she was not asked what she wanted them for. It took her a
good while to choose the beetle. For though she had a vague kind of idea that
the silk, the cotton, twine, and rope, were to help her husband get down from
the tower, she could not imagine what share the beetle and the honey were to
take. In the end she chose a very handsome, strong-looking, brilliantly
coloured fellow who lived in the garden of her home and whom she knew to be
fond of honey.

5. Can you guess how the beetle and the honey were to help in saving
Dhairya-Sila?

6. Do you think it would have been better if the vizier had told his wife how
all the things he asked for were to be used?

CHAPTER IV

All the time Buddhi-Mati was at work for her husband, she was thinking of him
and looking forward to the happy day of his return home. She had such faith in
him that she did not for a moment doubt that he would escape; but she was
anxious about the future, feeling sure that the Raja would never forgive
Dhairya-Sila for being wiser than himself. Exactly at the time fixed the
faithful wife appeared at the foot of the tower, with all the things she had
been told to bring with her.

“Is all well with my lord?” she whispered, as she gazed up through
the darkness. “I have the silken thread as fine as gossamer, the cotton
thread, the twine, the rope, the beetle and the honey.”

“Yes,” answered Dhairya-Sila, “all is still well with me. I
have slept well, feeling confident that my dear one would bring all that is
needed for my safety; but I dread the great heat of another day, and we must
lose no time in getting away from this terrible tower. Now attend most
carefully to all I bid you do; and remember not to speak loud, or the sentries
posted within hearing will take alarm and drive you away. First of all, tie the
end of the silken thread round the middle of the beetle, leaving all its legs
quite free. Then rub the drop of honey on its nose, and put the little creature
on the wall, with its nose turned upwards towards me. It will smell the honey,
but will not guess that it carries it itself, and it will crawl upwards in the
hope of getting to the hive from which that honey came. Keep the rest of the
silk firmly held, and gradually unwind it as the beetle climbs up. Mind you do
not let it slip, for my very life depends on that slight link with you.”

7. Which do you think had the harder task to perform—the husband at the
top of the tower or the wife at the foot of it?

8. Do you think the beetle was likely to imagine it was on the way to a hive of
bees when it began to creep up the tower?

CHAPTER V

Buddhi-Mati, though her hands shook and her heart beat fast as she realized all
that depended on her, kept the silk from becoming entangled; and when it was
nearly all unwound, she heard her husband’s voice saying to her:
“Now tie the cotton thread to the end of the silk that you hold, and let
it gradually unwind.” She obeyed, fully understanding now what all these
preparations were for.

When the little messenger of life reached the top of the tower, Dhairya-Sila
took it up in his hand and very gently unfastened the silken thread from its
body. Then he placed the beetle carefully in a fold of his turban, and began to
pull the silken thread up—very, very slowly, for if it had broken, his
wonderful scheme would have come to an end. Presently he had the cotton thread
in his fingers, and he broke off the silk, wound it up, and placed it too in
his turban. It had done its duty well, and he would not throw it away.

“Half the work is done now,” he whispered to his faithful wife.
“You have all but saved me now. Take the twine and tie it to the end of
the cotton thread.”

Very happily Buddhi-Mati obeyed once more; and soon the cotton thread and twine
were also laid aside, and the strong rope tied to the last was being quickly
dragged up by the clever vizier, who knew that all fear of death from sunstroke
or hunger was over. When he had all the rope on the tower, he fastened one end
of it to the iron railing which ran round the platform on which he stood, and
very quickly slid down to the bottom, where his wife was waiting for him,
trembling with joy.

9. Do you see anything very improbable in the account of what the beetle did?

10. If the beetle had not gone straight up the tower, what do you think would
have happened?

CHAPTER VI

After embracing his wife and thanking her for saving him, the vizier said to
her: “Before we return home, let us give thanks to the great God who
helped me in my need by putting into my head the device by which I
escaped.” The happy pair then prostrated themselves on the ground, and in
fervent words of gratitude expressed their sense of what the God they
worshipped had done for them. “And now,” said Dhairya-Sila,
“the next thing we have to do is to take the dear little beetle which was
the instrument of my rescue back to the place it came from.” And taking
off his turban, he showed his wife the tiny creature lying in the soft folds.

Buddhi-Mati led her husband to the garden where she had found the beetle, and
Dhairya-Sila laid it tenderly on the ground, fetched some food for it, such as
he knew it loved, and there left it to take up its old way of life. The rest of
the day he spent quietly in his own home with his wife, keeping out of sight of
his servants, lest they should report his return to his master. “You must
never breathe a word to any one of how I escaped,” Dhairya-Sila said, and
his wife promised that she never would.

11. When the vizier got this promise, what did he forget which could betray how
he got down from the tower, if any one went to look at it?

12. Do you think there was any need for the vizier to tell his wife to keep his
secret?

CHAPTER VII

All this time the Raja was feeling very unhappy, for he thought he had himself
caused the death of the one man he could trust. He was too proud to let anybody
know that he missed Dhairya-Sila, and was longing to send for him from the
tower before it was too late. What then was his relief and surprise when a
message was brought to him that the vizier was at the door of the palace and
begged for an interview.

“Bring him in at once,” cried Surya Pratap. And the next moment
Dhairya-Sila stood before his master, his hands folded on his breast and his
head bent in token of his submission. The attendants looked on, eager to know
how he had got down from the tower, some of them anything but glad to see him
back. The Raja took care not to show how delighted he was to see him, and
pretending to be angry, he said:

“How dare you come into my presence, and which of my subjects has
ventured to help you to escape the death on the tower you so richly
deserved?”

“None of your subjects, great and just and glorious ruler,” replied
Dhairya-Sila, “but the God who created us both, making you my master and
me your humble servant. It was that God,” he went on, “who saved
me, knowing that I was indeed guiltless of any crime against you. I had not
been long on the tower when help came to me in the form of a great and noble
eagle, which appeared above me, hovering with outspread wings, as if about to
swoop down upon me and tear me limb from limb. I trembled greatly, but I need
have had no fear; for instead of harming me, the bird suddenly lifted me up in
its talons and, flying rapidly through the air, landed me upon the balcony of
my home and disappeared. Great indeed was the joy of my wife at my rescue from
what seemed to be certain death; but I tore myself away from her embraces, to
come and tell my lord how heaven had interfered to prove my innocence.”

Fully believing that a miracle had taken place, Surya Pratap asked no more
questions, but at once restored Dhairya-Sila to his old place as vizier, taking
care not again to ill-treat the man he now believed to be under the special
care of God. Though he certainly did not deserve it, the vizier prospered
greatly all the rest of his life and as time went on he became the real ruler
of the kingdom, for the Raja depended on his advice in everything. He grew
richer and richer, but he was never really happy again, remembering the lie he
had told to the master to whom he owed so much. Buddhi-Mati could never
understand why he made up the story about the eagle, and constantly urged him
to tell the truth. She thought it was really far more wonderful that a little
beetle should have been the means of rescuing him, than that a strong bird
should have done so; and she wanted everyone to know what a very clever husband
she had. She kept her promise never to tell anyone what really happened, but
the secret came out for all that. By the time it was known, however,
Dhairya-Sila was so powerful that no one could harm him, and when he died his
son took his place as vizier.

13. What lessons can be learnt from this story?

14. What do you think was Dhairya-Sila’s motive for telling the Raja the
lie about the eagle?

15. What did Surya Pratap’s ready belief in the story show?

16. How do you think the secret the husband and wife kept so well was
discovered?

VII.
A Crow and His Three Friends

CHAPTER I

In the branches of a great tree, in a forest in India, lived a wise old crow in
a very comfortable, well-built nest. His wife was dead, and all his children
were getting their own living; so he had nothing to do but to look after
himself. He led a very easy existence, but took a great interest in the affairs
of his neighbours. One day, popping his head over the edge of his home, he saw
a fierce-looking man stalking along, carrying a stick in one hand and a net in
the other.

“That fellow is up to some mischief, I’ll be bound,” thought
the crow: “I will keep my eye on him.” The man stopped under the
tree, spread the net on the ground; and taking a bag of rice out of his pocket,
he scattered the grains amongst the meshes of the net. Then he hid himself
behind the trunk of the tree from which the crow was watching, evidently
intending to stop there and see what would happen. The crow felt pretty sure
that the stranger had designs against birds, and that the stick had something
to do with the matter. He was quite right; and it was not long before just what
he expected came to pass.

A flock of pigeons, led by a specially fine bird who had been chosen king
because of his size and the beauty of his plumage, came flying rapidly along,
and noticed the white rice, but did not see the net, because it was very much
the same colour as the ground. Down swooped the king, and down swept all the
other pigeons, eager to enjoy a good meal without any trouble to themselves.
Alas, their joy was short lived! They were all caught in the net and began
struggling to escape, beating the air with their wings and uttering loud cries
of distress.

The crow and the man behind the tree kept very quiet, watching them; the man
with his stick ready to beat the poor helpless birds to death, the crow
watching out of mere curiosity. Now a very strange and wonderful thing came to
pass. The king of the pigeons, who had his wits about him, said to the
imprisoned birds:

“Take the net up in your beaks, all of you spread out your wings at once,
and fly straight up into the air as quickly as possible.”

1. What special qualities did the king display when he gave these orders to his
subjects?

2. Can you think of any other advice the king might have given?

CHAPTER II

In a moment all the pigeons, who were accustomed to obey their leader, did as
they were bid; each little bird seized a separate thread of the net in his beak
and up, up, up, they all flew, looking very beautiful with the sunlight
gleaming on their white wings. Very soon they were out of sight; and the man,
who thought he had hit upon a very clever plan, came forth from his
hiding-place, very much surprised at what had happened. He stood gazing up
after his vanished net for a little time, and then went away muttering to
himself, whilst the wise old crow laughed at him.

When the pigeons had flown some distance, and were beginning to get exhausted,
for the net was heavy and they were quite unused to carrying loads, the king
bade them rest awhile in a clearing of the forest; and as they all lay on the
ground panting for breath, with the cruel net still hampering them, he said:

“What we must do now is to take this horrible net to my old friend
Hiranya the mouse, who will, I am quite sure, nibble through the strings for me
and set us all free. He lives, as you all know, near the tree where the net was
spread, deep underground; but there are many passages leading to his home, and
we shall easily find one of the openings. Once there, we will all lift up our
voices, and call to him at once, when he will be sure to hear us.” So the
weary pigeons took up their burden once more, and sped back whence they had
come, greatly to the surprise of the crow, who wondered at their coming back to
the very place where misfortune had overtaken them. He very soon learnt the
reason, and got so excited watching what was going on, that he hopped out of
his nest and perched upon a branch where he could see better. Presently a great
clamour arose, one word being repeated again and again: “Hiranya!
Hiranya! Hiranya.”

“Why, that’s the name of the mouse who lives down below
there!” thought the crow. “Now, what good can he do? I know, I
know,” he added, as he remembered the sharp teeth of Hiranya. “That
king of the pigeons is a sensible fellow. I must make friends with him.”

Very soon, as the pigeons lay fluttering and struggling outside one of the
entrances to Hiranya’s retreat, the mouse came out. He didn’t even
need to be told what was wanted, but at once began to nibble the string, first
setting free the king, and then all the rest of the birds. “A friend in
need is a friend indeed,” cried the king; “a thousand thousand
thanks!” And away he flew up into the beautiful free air of heaven,
followed by the happy pigeons, none of them ever likely to forget the adventure
or to pick up food from the ground without a good look at it first.

3. What was the chief virtue displayed by the mouse on this occasion?

4. Do you think it is easier to obey than to command?

CHAPTER III

The mouse did not at once return to his hole when the birds were gone, but went
for a little stroll, which brought him to the ground still strewn with rice,
which he began to eat with great relish. “It’s an ill wind,”
he said to himself, “which brings nobody any good. There’s many a
good meal for my whole family here.”

Presently he was joined by the old crow, who had flown down from his perch
unnoticed by Hiranya, and now addressed him in his croaky voice:

“Hiranya,” he said, “for that I know is your name, I am
called Laghupatin and I would gladly have you for a friend. I have seen all
that you did for the pigeons, and have come to the conclusion that you are a
mouse of great wisdom, ready to help those who are in trouble, without any
thought of yourself.”

“You are quite wrong,” squeaked Hiranya. “I am not so silly
as you make out. I have no wish to be your friend. If you were hungry, you
wouldn’t hesitate to gobble me up. I don’t care for that sort of
affection.”

With that Hiranya whisked away to his hole, pausing at the entrance, when he
knew the crow could not get at him, to cry, “You be off to your nest and
leave me alone!”

The feelings of the crow were very much hurt at this speech, the more that he
knew full well it was not exactly love for the mouse, which had led him to make
his offer, but self-interest: for who could tell what difficulties he himself
might some day be in, out of which the mouse might help him? Instead of obeying
Hiranya, and going back to his nest, he hopped to the mouse’s hole, and
putting his head on one side in what he thought was a very taking manner, he
said:

“Pray do not misjudge me so. Never would I harm you! Even if I did not
wish to have you for a friend, I should not dream of gobbling you up, as you
say, however hungry I might be. Surely you are aware that I am a strict
vegetarian, and never eat the flesh of other creatures. At least give me a
trial. Let us share a meal together, and talk the matter over.”

5. Can a friendship be a true one if the motive for it is self-interest?

6. Would it have been wise or foolish for the mouse to agree to be friends with
the crow?

CHAPTER IV

Hiranya, on hearing the last remark of Laghupatin, hesitated, and in the end he
agreed that he would have supper with the crow that very evening. “There
is plenty of rice here,” he said, “which we can eat on the spot. It
would be impossible for you to get into my hole, and I am certainly not
disposed to visit you in your nest.” So the two at once began their meal,
and before it was over they had become good friends. Not a day passed without a
meeting, and when all the rice was eaten up, each of the two would bring
something to the feast. This had gone on for some little time, when the crow,
who was fond of adventure and change, said one day to the mouse:
“Don’t you think we might go somewhere else for a time? I am rather
tired of this bit of the forest, every inch of which we both know well.
I’ve got another great friend who lives beside a fine river a few miles
away, a tortoise named Mandharaka; a thoroughly good, trustworthy fellow he is,
though rather slow and cautious in his ways. I should like to introduce you to
him. There are quantities of food suitable for us both where he lives, for it
is a very fruitful land. What do you say to coming with me to pay him a
visit?”

“How in the world should I get there?” answered Hiranya.
“It’s all very well for you, who can fly. I can’t walk for
miles and miles. For all that I too am sick of this place and would like a
change.”

“Oh, there’s no difficulty about that,” replied Laghupatin.
“I will carry you in my beak, and you will get there without any fatigue
at all.” To this Hiranya consented, and very early one morning the two
friends started off together.

7. Is love of change a good or a bad thing?

8. What did Hiranya’s readiness to let Laghupatin carry him show?

CHAPTER V

After flying along for several hours, the crow began to feel very tired. He was
seized too with a great desire to hear his own voice again. So he flew to the
ground, laid his little companion gently down, and gave vent to a number of
hoarse cries, which quite frightened Hiranya, who timidly asked him what was
the matter.

“Nothing whatever,” answered Laghupatin, “except that you are
not quite so light as I thought you were, and that I need a rest; besides
which, I am hungry and I expect you are. We had better stop here for the night,
and start again early to-morrow morning.” Hiranya readily agreed to this,
and after a good meal, which was easily found, the two settled down to sleep,
the crow perched in a tree, the mouse hidden amongst its roots. Very early the
next day they were off again, and soon arrived at the river, where they were
warmly welcomed by the tortoise. The three had a long talk together, and agreed
never to part again. The tortoise, who had lived a great deal longer than
either the mouse or the crow, was a very pleasant companion; and even
Laghupatin, who was very fond of talking himself, liked to listen to his
stories of long ago.

“I wonder,” said the tortoise, whose name was Mandharaka, to the
mouse, “that you are not afraid to travel about as you have done, with
your soft little body unprotected by any armour. Look how different it is for
me; it is almost impossible for any of the wild creatures who live near this
river to hurt me, and they know it full well. See how thick and strong my
armour is. The claws even of a tiger, a wild cat or an eagle, could not
penetrate it. I am very much afraid, my little friend, that you will be gobbled
up some fine day, and Laghupatin and I will seek for you in vain.”

“Of course,” said the mouse, “I know the truth of what you
say; but I can very easily hide from danger—much more easily than you or
Laghupatin. A tuft of moss or a few dead leaves are shelter enough for me, but
big fellows like you and the crow can be quite easily seen. Nobody saw me when
the pigeons were all caught except Laghupatin; and I would have kept out of his
sight if I had not known that he did not care to eat mice.”

In spite of the fears of Mandharaka, the mouse and the crow lived as his guests
for a long time without any accident; and one day they were suddenly joined by
a new companion, a creature as unlike any one of the three friends as could
possibly be imagined. This was a very beautiful deer, who came bounding out of
the forest, all eager to escape from the hunters, by whom he had been pursued,
but too weary to reach the river, across which he had hoped to be able to swim
to safety. Just as he reached the three friends, he fell to the ground, almost
crushing the mouse, who darted away in the nick of time. Strange to say, the
hunters did not follow the deer; and it was evident that they had not noticed
the way he had gone.

The tortoise, the crow and the mouse were all very sorry for the deer, and, as
was always the case, the crow was the first to speak. “Whatever has
happened to you?” he asked. And the deer made answer:

“I thought my last hour had come this time, for the hunters were close
upon me; and even now I do not feel safe.”

“I’ll fly up and take a look ’round,” said Laghupatin;
and off he went to explore, coming back soon, to say he had seen the hunters
disappearing a long distance off, going in quite another direction from the
river. Gradually the deer was reassured, and lay still where he had fallen;
whilst the three friends chatted away to him, telling him of their adventures.
“What you had better do,” said the tortoise, “is to join us.
When you have had a good meal, and a drink from the river, you will feel a
different creature. My old friend Laghupatin will be the one to keep watch for
us all, and warn us of any danger approaching; I will give you the benefit of
my long experience; and little Hiranya, though he is not likely to be of any
use to you, will certainly never do you any harm.”

9. Is it a good thing to make friends easily?

10. What was the bond of union between the crow, the mouse, the tortoise and
the deer?

CHAPTER VI

The deer was so touched by the kind way in which he had been received, that he
agreed to stop with the three friends; and for some weeks after his arrival all
went well. Each member of the party went his own way during the day-time, but
all four met together in the evening, and took it in turns to tell their
adventures. The crow always had the most to say, and was very useful to the
deer in warning him of the presence of hunters in the forest. One beautiful
moonlight night the deer did not come back as usual, and the other three became
very anxious about him. The crow flew up to the highest tree near and eagerly
sought for some sign of his lost friend, of whom he had grown very fond.
Presently he noticed a dark mass by the river-side, just where the deer used to
go down to drink every evening. “That must be he,” thought the
crow; and very soon he was hovering above the deer, who had been caught in a
net and was struggling in vain to get free.

The poor deer was very glad indeed to see the crow, and cried to him in a
piteous voice: “Be quick, be quick, and help me, before the terrible
hunters find me and kill me.”

“I can do nothing for you myself,” said the crow, “but I know
who can. Remember who saved the pigeons!” And away he flew to fetch
little Hiranya, who with the tortoise was anxiously awaiting his return. Very
soon Laghupatin was back by the river-side with the little mouse in his beak;
and it did not take long for Hiranya, who had been despised by the deer and the
tortoise as a feeble little thing, to nibble through the cords and save the
life of the animal a hundred times as big as himself.

How happy the deer was when the cruel cords were loosed and he could stretch
out his limbs again! He bounded up, but took great care not to crush the mouse,
who had done him such a service. “Never, never, never,” he said,
“shall I forget what you have done for me. Ask anything in my power, and
I will do it.”

“I want nothing,” said Hiranya, “except the joyful thought of
having saved you.”

By this time the tortoise had crept to the riverbank, and he too was glad that
the deer had been saved. He praised the mouse, and declared that he would never
again look down upon him. Then the four started to go back to their usual haunt
in the forest; the deer, the crow, and the mouse soon arriving there quite
safely, whilst the tortoise, who could only get along very slowly, lagged
behind. Now came the time for him to find out that armour was not the only
thing needed to save him from danger. He had not got very far from the
riverbank before the cruel hunter who had set the net to catch the deer, came
to see if he had succeeded. Great was his rage when he found the net lying on
the ground, but not exactly where he had left it. He guessed at once that some
animal had been caught in it and escaped after a long struggle. He looked
carefully about and noticed that the cords had been bitten through here and
there. So he suspected just what had happened, and began to search about for
any creature who could have done the mischief.

There was not a sign of the mouse, but the slow-moving tortoise was soon
discovered, and pouncing down upon him, the hunter rolled him up in another net
he had with him, and carried him off, “It’s not much of a
prize,” said the hunter to himself, “but better than nothing.
I’ll have my revenge on the wretched creature anyhow, as I have lost the
prey I sought.”

11. Which of the four friends concerned in this adventure do you admire most?

12. What was the chief mistake made by the tortoise?

CHAPTER VII

When the tortoise in his turn did not come home, the deer, the crow and the
mouse were very much concerned. They talked the matter over together and
decided that, however great the risk to themselves, they must go back and see
what had become of their friend. This time the mouse travelled in one of the
ears of the deer, from which he peeped forth with his bright eyes, hoping to
see the tortoise toiling along in his usual solemn manner; whilst the crow,
also on the watch, flew along beside them. Great was the surprise and terror of
all three when, as they came out of the forest, they saw the hunter striding
along towards them, with the tortoise in the net under his arm. Once more the
little mouse showed his wisdom. Without a moment’s hesitation he said to
the deer: “Throw yourself on the ground and pretend to be dead; and
you,” he added to the crow, “perch on his head and bend over
as if you were going to peck out his eyes.”

Without any idea what Hiranya meant by these strange orders, but remembering
how he had helped in other dangers, the two did as they were told; the poor
deer feeling anything but happy lying still where his enemy was sure to see
him, and thereby proving what a noble creature he was. The hunter did, see him
very soon, and thinking to himself, “After all I shall get that
deer,” he let the tortoise fall, and came striding along as fast as he
could.

Up jumped the deer without waiting to see what became of the tortoise, and sped
away like the wind. The hunter rushed after him, and the two were soon out of
sight. The tortoise, whose armour had saved him from being hurt by his fall,
was indeed pleased when he saw little Hiranya running towards him. “Be
quick, be quick!” he cried, “and set me free.” Very soon the
sharp teeth of the mouse had bitten through the meshes of the net, and before
the hunter came back, after trying in vain to catch the deer, the tortoise was
safely swimming across the river, leaving the net upon the ground, whilst the
crow and the mouse were back in the shelter of the forest.

“There’s some magic at work here,” said the hunter when,
expecting to find the tortoise where he had left him, he discovered that his
prisoner had escaped. “The stupid beast could not have got out
alone,” he added, as he picked up the net and walked off with it.
“But he wasn’t worth keeping anyhow.”

That evening the four friends met once more, and talked over all they had gone
through together. The deer and the tortoise were full of gratitude to the
mouse, and could not say enough in his praise, but the crow was rather sulky,
and remarked: “If it had not been for me, neither of you would ever have
seen Hiranya. He was my friend before he was yours.”

“You are right,” said the tortoise, “and you must also
remember that it was my armour which saved me from being killed in that
terrible fall.”

“Your armour would not have been of much use to you, if the hunter had
been allowed to carry you to his home,” said the deer. “In my
opinion you and I both owe our lives entirely to Hiranya. He is small and weak,
it is true, but he has better brains than any of the rest of us, and I for one
admire him with all my heart. I am glad I trusted him and obeyed him, when he
ordered me to pretend to be dead, for I had not the least idea how that could
help the tortoise.”

“Have it your own way,” croaked the crow, “but I keep my own
opinion all the same. But for me you would never have known my dear little
Hiranya.”

In spite of this little dispute the four friends were soon as happy together as
before the adventure of the tortoise. They once more agreed never to part and
lived happily together for many years, as they had done ever since they first
met.

13. What were the chief differences in the characters of the four friends?

14. Are those who are alike or unlike in character more likely to remain
friends?

15. How would you describe a true friend?

16. What fault is more likely than any other to lead to loss of friendship?

VIII.
A Clever Thief.

CHAPTER I

A certain man, named Hari-Sarman, who lived in a little village in India, where
there were no rich people and everyone had to work hard to get his daily bread,
got very weary of the life he had to lead. He had a wife whose name was Vidya,
and a large family; and even if he had been very industrious it would have been
difficult for him to get enough food for them all. Unfortunately he was not a
bit industrious, but very lazy, and so was his wife. Neither of them made any
attempt to teach their boys and girls to earn their own living; and if the
other poor people in the village had not helped them, they would have starved.
Hari-Sarman used to send his children out in different directions to beg or
steal, whilst he and Vidya stayed at home doing nothing.

One day he said to his wife: “Let us leave this stupid place, and go to
some big city where we can pick up a living of some kind. I will pretend to be
a wise man, able to find out secrets; and you can say that you know all about
children, having had so many of your own.” Vidya gladly agreed to this,
and the whole party set out, carrying the few possessions they had with them.
In course of time they came to a big town, and Hari-Sarman went boldly to the
chief house in it, leaving his wife and children outside. He asked to see the
master, and was taken into his presence. This master was a very rich merchant,
owning large estates in the country; but he cannot have been very clever, for
he was at once quite taken in by the story Hari-Sarman told him. He said that
he would find work for him and his wife, and that the children could be sent to
a farm he had in the country, where they could be made very useful.

Overjoyed at this, Hari-Sarman hastened out to tell his wife the good news; and
the two were at once received into the grand residence, in which a small room
was given to them for their own, whilst the children were taken away to the
farm, fall of eager delight at the change from the wretched life they had been
leading.

1. Would it have been better for Hari-Sarman and Vidya if their neighbours had
not helped them?

2. Do you think Hari-Sarman was the only person to blame for his poverty?

CHAPTER II

Soon after the arrival of the husband and wife at the merchant’s house, a
very important event took place, namely, the marriage of the eldest daughter.
Great were the preparations beforehand, in which Vidya took her full share,
helping in the kitchen to make all manner of delicious dishes, and living in
great luxury herself. For there was no stint in the wealthy home; even the
humblest servants were well cared for. Vidya was happier than she had ever been
before, now that she had plenty to do and plenty of good food. She became in
fact quite a different creature, and began to wish she had been a better mother
to her children. “When the wedding is over,” she thought, “I
will go and see how they are getting on.” On the other hand she forgot
all about her husband and scarcely ever saw him.

It was all very different with Hari-Sarman himself. He had no special duties to
perform and nobody seemed to want him. If he went into the kitchen, the busy
servants ordered him to get out of their way; and he was not made welcome by
the owner of the house or his guests. The merchant too forgot all about him,
and he felt very lonely and miserable. He had been thinking to himself how much
he would enjoy all the delicious food he would get after the wedding; and now
he began to grumble: “I’m starving in the midst of plenty,
that’s what I am. Something will have to be done to change this horrible
state of things.”

Whilst the preparations for the wedding were going on, Vidya never came near
her husband, and he lay awake a long time thinking, “What in the world
can I do to make the master send for me?” All of a sudden an idea came
into his head. “I’ll steal something valuable, and hide it away;
and when everyone is being asked about the loss, the merchant will remember the
man who can reveal secrets. Now what can I take that is sure to be missed? I
know, I know!” And springing out of bed, he hastily dressed himself and
crept out of the house.

3. What would you have done if you had been Hari-Sarman?

4. Do you think Vidya ever had any real love for her husband?

CHAPTER III

This was what Hari-Sarman decided to do. The merchant had a great many very
beautiful horses, which lived in splendid stables and were taken the greatest
possible care of. Amongst them was a lovely little Arab mare, the special
favourite of the bride, who often went to pet it and give it sugar.
“I’ll steal that mare and hide it away in the forest,” said
the wicked man to himself. “Then, when every one is hunting for her, the
master will remember the man who can reveal secrets and send for me. Ah! Ah!
What a clever fellow I am! All the stablemen and grooms are feasting, I know;
for I saw them myself when I tried to get hold of my wife. I can climb through
a window that is always left open.” It turned out that he was right. He
met no one on his way to the stables, which ware quite deserted. He got in
easily, opened, the door from inside, and led out the little mare, which made
no resistance; she had always been so kindly treated that she was not a bit
afraid. He took the beautiful creature far into the depths of the forest, tied
her up there, and got safely back to his own room without being seen.

Early the next morning the merchant’s daughter, attended by her maidens,
went to see her dear little mare, taking with her an extra supply of sugar.
What was her distress when she found the stall empty! She guessed at once that
a thief had got in during the night, and hurried home to tell her father, who
was very, very angry with the stablemen who had deserted their posts, and
declared they should all be flogged for it. “But the first thing to do is
to get the mare back,” he said; and he ordered messengers to be sent in
every direction, promising a big reward to anyone who brought news of the mare.

Vidya of course heard all there was to hear, and at once suspected that
Hari-Sarman had had something to do with the matter. “I expect he has
hidden the mare,” she thought to herself, “and means to get the
reward for finding it.” So she asked to see the master of the house, and
when leave was granted to her she said to him:

“Why do you not send for my husband, the man who can reveal secrets,
because of the wonderful power that has been given him of seeing what is hidden
from others? Many a time has he surprised me by what he has been able to
do.”

5. Do you think Vidya had any wish to help Hari-Sarman for his own sake?

6. Is there anything you think she should have done before seeing the master?

CHAPTER IV

On hearing what Vidya said, the merchant at once told her to go and fetch her
husband. But to her surprise Hari-Sarman refused to go back with her.
“You can tell the master what you like,” he said, angrily.
“You all forgot me entirely yesterday; and now you want me to help you,
you suddenly remember my existence. I am not going to be at your beck and call
or anyone else’s.”

Vidya entreated him to listen to reason, but it was no good. She had to go back
and tell the merchant that he would not come. Instead of being made angry by
this, however, the master surprised her by saying: “Your husband is
right. I have treated him badly. Go and tell him I apologise, and will reward
him well, if only he will come and help me.”

Back again went Vidya and this time she was more successful. But though
Hari-Sarman said he would go back with her, he was very sulky and would not
answer any of her questions. She could not understand him, and wished she had
not left him to himself for so long. He behaved very strangely too when the
master, who received him very kindly, asked him if he could tell him where the
mare was. “I know,” he said, “what a wise and clever man you
are.”

“It didn’t seem much like it yesterday,” grumbled
Hari-Sarman. “Nobody took any notice of me then, but now you want
something of me, you find out that I am wise and clever. I am just the same
person that I was yesterday.”

“I know, I know,” said the merchant, “and I apologise for my
neglect; but when a man’s daughter is going to be married, it’s no
wonder some one gets neglected.”

7. Do you think Hari-Sarman was wise to treat his wife and the merchant as he
did?

8. If the mare had been found whilst Hari-Sarman was talking to the master,
what effect do you think the discovery would have had upon them both?

CHAPTER V

Hari-Sarman now thought it was time to take a different tone. So he put his
hand in his pocket, and brought out a map he had got ready whilst waiting to be
sent for, as he had felt sure he would be. He spread it out before the
merchant, and pointed to a dark spot in the midst of many lines crossing each
other in a bewildering manner, which he explained were pathways through the
forest. “Under a tree, where that dark spot is, you will find the
mare,” he said.

Overjoyed at the good news, the merchant at once sent a trusted servant to test
the truth; and when the mare was brought back, nothing seemed too good for the
man who had led to her recovery. At the wedding festivities Hari-Sarman was
treated as an honoured guest, and no longer had he any need to complain of not
having food enough. His wife of course thought he would forgive her now for
having neglected him. But not a bit of it: he still sulked with her, and she
could never feel quite sure what the truth was about the mare.

All went well with Hari-Sarman for a long time. But presently something
happened which seemed likely to get him into very great trouble. A quantity of
gold and many valuable jewels disappeared in the palace of the king of the
country; and when the thief could not be discovered, some one told the king the
story of the stolen mare, and how a man called Hari-Sarman, living in the house
of a rich merchant in the chief city, had found her when everyone else had
failed.

“Fetch that man here at once,” ordered the king, and very soon
Hari-Sarman was brought before him. “I hear you are so wise, you can
reveal all secrets,” said the king. “Now tell me immediately who
has stolen the gold and jewels and where they are to be found.”

Poor Hari-Sarman did not know what to say or do. “Give me till
to-morrow,” he replied in a faltering voice; “I must have a little
time to think.”

“I will not give you a single hour,” answered the king. For seeing
the man before him was frightened, he began to suspect he was a deceiver.
“If you do not at once tell me where the gold and jewels are, I will have
you flogged until you find your tongue.”

Hearing this, Hari-Sarman, though more terrified than ever, saw that his only
chance of gaining time to make up some story was to get the king to believe in
him. So he drew himself up and answered: “The wisest magicians need to
employ means to find out the truth. Give me twenty-four hours, and I will name
the thieves.”

“You are not much of a magician if you cannot find out such a simple
thing as I ask of you,” said the king. And turning to the guards, he
ordered them to take Hari-Sarman to prison, and shut him up there without food
or drink till he came to his senses. The man was dragged away, and very soon he
found himself alone in a dark and gloomy room from which he saw no hope of
escape.

He was in despair and walked up and down, trying in vain to think of some way
of escape. “I shall die here of starvation, unless my wife finds some
means of setting me free,” he said. “I wish I had treated her
better instead of being so sulky with her.” He tried the bars of the
window, but they were very strong: he could not hope to move them. And he beat
against the door, but no notice was taken of that.

9. What lesson does the trouble Hari-Sarman was in teach?

10. Do you think it would have been better for him to tell the king he could
not reveal secrets?

CHAPTER VI

When it got quite dark in the prison, Hari-Sarman began to talk to himself
aloud. “Oh,” he said, “I wish I had bitten my tongue out
before I told that lie about the mare. It is all my foolish tongue which has
got me into this trouble. Tongue! Tongue!” he went on, “it is all
your fault.”

Now a very strange thing happened. The money and jewels had been stolen by a
man, who had been told where they were by a young servant girl in the palace
whose name was Jihva, which is the Sanskrit word for tongue; and this girl was
in a great fright when she heard that a revealer of secrets had been taken
before the king. “He will tell of my share in the matter,” she
thought, “and I shall get into trouble,” It so happened that the
guard at the prison door was fond of her, as well as the thief who had stolen
the money and jewels. So when all was quiet in the palace, Jihva slipped away
to see if she could get that guard to let her see the prisoner. “If I
promise to give him part of the money,” she thought, “he will
undertake not to betray me.”

The guard was glad enough when Jihva came to talk to him, and he let her listen
at the key-hole to what Hari-Sarman was saying. Just imagine her astonishment
when she heard him repeating her name again and again. “Jihva! Jihva!
Thou,” he cried, “art the cause of this suffering. Why didst thou
behave in such a foolish manner, just for the sake of the good things of this
life? Never can I forgive thee, Jihva, thou wicked, wicked one!”

“Oh! oh!” cried Jihva in an agony of terror, “he knows the
truth; he knows that I helped the thief.” And she entreated the guard to
let her into the prison that she might plead with Hari-Sarman not to tell the
king what she had done. The man hesitated at first, but in the end she
persuaded him to consent by promising him a large reward.

When the key grated in the lock, Hari-Sarman stopped talking aloud, wondering
whether what he had been saying had been overheard by the guard, and half
hoping that his wife had got leave to come and see him. As the door opened and
he saw a woman coming in by the light of a lantern held up by the guard, he
cried, “Vidya my beloved!” But he soon realized that it was a
stranger. He was indeed surprised and relieved, when Jihva suddenly threw
herself at his feet and, clinging to his knees, began to weep and moan
“Oh, most holy man,” she cried between her sobs, “who knowest
the very secrets of the heart, I have come to confess that it was indeed I,
Jihva, your humble servant, who aided the thief to take the jewels and the gold
and to hide them beneath the big pomegranate tree behind the palace.”

“Rise,” replied Hari-Sarman, overjoyed at hearing this. “You
have told me nothing that I did not know, for no secret is hidden from me. What
reward will you give me if I save you from the wrath of the king?”

“I will give you all the money I have,” said Jihva; “and that
is not a little.”

“That also I knew,” said Hari-Sarman. “For you have good
wages, and many a time you have stolen money that did not belong to you. Go now
and fetch it all, and have no fear that I will betray you.”

11. What mistakes do you think Jihva made in what she said to Hari-Sarman?

12. What would have been the best thing for her to do when she thought she was
found out?

CHAPTER VII

Without waiting a moment Jihva hurried away to fetch the money; but when she
got back with it, the man on guard, who had heard everything that had passed
between her and Hari-Sarman, would not let her in to the prison again till she
gave him ten gold pieces. Thinking that Hari-Sarman really knew exactly how
much money she had, Jihva was afraid he would be angry when he missed some of
it; and again she let out the truth, which he might never have guessed. For she
began at once to say, “I brought all I had, but the man at the door has
taken ten pieces.” This did vex Hari-Sarman very much, and he told her he
would let the king know what she had done, unless she fetched the thief who had
taken the money and jewels. “I cannot do that,” said Jihva,
“for he is very far away. He lives with his brother, Indra Datta, in the
forest beyond the river, more than a day’s journey from here.”
“I did but try you,” said the clever Hari-Sarman, who now knew who
the thief was; “for I can see him where he is at this moment. Now go home
and wait there till I send for you.”

But Jihva, who loved the thief and did not want him to be punished, refused to
go until Hari-Sarman promised that he would not tell the king who the man was
or where he lived. “I would rather,” she said, “bear all the
punishment than that he should suffer.” Even Hari-Sarman was touched at
this, and fearing that if he kept Jihva longer, she would be found in the
prison by messengers from the king, he promised that no harm should come to her
or the thief, and let her go.

Very soon after this, messengers came to take Hari-Sarman once more before the
king; who received him very coldly and began at once to threaten him with a
terrible punishment, if he did not say who the thief was, and where the gold
and jewels were. Even now Hari-Sarman pretended to be unwilling to speak. But
when he saw that the king would put up with no more delay, he said, “I
will lead you to the spot where the treasure is buried, but the name of the
thief, though I know it, I will never betray.” The king, who did not
really care much who the thief was, so long as he got back his money, lost not
a moment, but ordered his attendants to get spades and follow him. Very soon
Hari-Sarman brought them to the pomegranate tree. And there, sure enough, deep
down in the ground, was all that had been lost.

Nothing was now too good for Hari-Sarman: the king was greatly delighted, and
heaped riches and honours upon him. But some of the wise men at the court
suspected that he was really a deceiver, and set about trying to find out all
they could about him. They sent for the man who had been on guard at the
prison, and asked him many questions. He did not dare tell the truth, for he
knew he would be terribly punished if he let out that Jihva had been allowed to
see his prisoner; but he hesitated so much that the wise men knew he was not
speaking the truth. One of them, whom the king loved, and trusted very much,
whose name was Deva-Jnanin, said to his master: “I do not like to see
that man, about whom we really know nothing, treated as he is. He might easily
have found out where the treasure was hidden without any special power. Will
you not test him in some other way in my presence and that of your chief
advisers?”

The king, who was always ready to listen to reason, agreed to this; and after a
long consultation with Deva-Jnanin, he decided on a very clever puzzle with
which to try Hari-Sarman. A live frog was put into a pitcher; the lid was shut
down, and the man who pretended to know everything was brought into the great
reception room, where all the wise men of the court were gathered together
round the throne, on which sat the king in his royal robes. Deva-Jnanin had
been chosen by his master to speak for him; and coming forward, he pointed to
the small pitcher on the ground, and said: “Great as are the honours
already bestowed on you, they shall be increased if you can say at once what is
in that pitcher.”

13. What kind of man do you think the king was from his behaviour to
Hari-Sarman?

14. Was it wise or foolish of Hari-Sarman to remain in the city after his very
narrow escape?

CHAPTER VIII

Hari-Sarman thought when he looked at the pitcher: “Alas, alas, it is all
over with me now! Never can I find out what is in it. Would that I had left
this town with the money I had from Jihva before it was too late!” Then
he began to mutter to himself, as it was always his habit to do when he was in
trouble. It so happened that, when he was a little boy, his father used to call
him frog, and now his thoughts went back to the time when he was a happy
innocent child, and he said aloud: “Oh, frog, what trouble has come to
you! That pitcher will be the death of you!”

Even Deva-Jnanin was astonished when he heard that; and so were all the other
wise men. The king was delighted to find that after all he had made no mistake;
and all the people who had been allowed to come in to see the trial were
greatly excited. Shouting for joy the king called Hari-Sarman to come to the
foot of the throne, and told him he would never, never doubt him again. He
should have yet more money, a beautiful house in the country as well as the one
he already had in the town, and his children should be brought from the farm to
live with him and their mother, who should have lovely dresses and ornaments to
wear.

Nobody was more surprised than Hari-Sarman himself. He guessed, of course, that
there was a frog in the pitcher. And when the king had ended his speech, he
said: “One thing I ask in addition to all that has been given me, that I
may keep the pitcher in memory of this day, when my truth has been proved once
more beyond a doubt.”

His request was, of course, granted; and he went off with the pitcher under his
arm, full of rejoicing over his narrow escape. At the same time he was also
full of fear for the future. He knew only too well that it had only been by a
lucky chance that he had used the word Jihva in his first danger and Frog in
the second. He was not likely to get off a third time; and he made up his mind
that he would skip away some dark night soon, with all the money and jewels he
could carry, and be seen no more where such strange adventures had befallen
him. He did not even tell his wife what he meant to do, but pretended to have
forgiven her entirely for the way she had neglected him when he was poor, and
to be glad that their children were to be restored to them. Before they came
from the farm their father had disappeared, and nobody ever found out what had
become of him; but the king let his family keep what had been given to him, and
to the end believed he really had been what he had pretended to be. Only
Deva-Jnanin had his doubts; but he kept them to himself, for he thought,
“Now the man is gone, it really does not matter who or what he
was.”

15. What is the chief lesson to be learnt from this story?

16. What do you think it was that made Hari-Sarman think of his boyhood when he
was in trouble?

17. Do you think he took the pitcher and frog with him when he left the city?

18. Do you think there was anything good in the character of Hari-Sarman?

IX.
The Hermit’s Daughter.

CHAPTER I

Near a town in India called Ikshumati, on a beautiful wide river, with trees
belonging to a great forest near its banks, there dwelt a holy man named Mana
Kanaka, who spent a great part of his life praying to God. He had lost his wife
when his only child, a lovely girl called Kadali-Garbha, was only a few months
old. Kadali-Garbha was a very happy girl, with many friends in the woods round
her home, not children like herself, but wild creatures, who knew she would not
do them any harm. They loved her and she loved them. The birds were so tame
that they would eat out of her hand, and the deer used to follow her about in
the hope of getting the bread she carried in her pocket for them. Her father
taught her all she knew, and that was a great deal; for she could read quite
learned books in the ancient language of her native land. Better even than what
she found out in those books was what Mana Kanaka told her about the loving God
of all gods who rules the world and all that live in it. Kadali-Garbha also
learnt a great deal through her friendship with wild animals. She knew where
the birds built their nests, where the baby deer were born, where the squirrels
hid their nuts, and what food all the dwellers in the forest liked best. She
helped her father to work in their garden in which all their own food was
grown; and she loved to cook the fruit and vegetables for Mana Kanaka and
herself. Her clothes were made of the bark of the trees in the forest, which
she herself wove into thin soft material suitable for wearing in a hot climate.

1. What do you think it was which made the animals trust Kadali-Garbha?

2. Could you have been happy in the forest with no other children to play with?

CHAPTER II

Kadali-Garbha never even thought about other children, because she had not been
used to having them with her. She was just as happy as the day was long, and
never wished for any change. But when she was about sixteen something happened
which quite altered her whole life. One day her father had gone into the forest
to cut wood, and had left her alone. She had finished tidying the house, and
got everything ready for the midday meal, and was sitting at the door of her
home, reading to herself, with birds fluttering about her head and a pet doe
lying beside her, when she heard the noise of a horse’s feet approaching.
She looked up, and there on the other side of the fence was a very handsome
young man seated on a great black horse, which he had reined up when he caught
sight of her. He looked at her without speaking, and she looked back at him
with her big black eyes full of surprise at his sudden appearance. She made a
beautiful picture, with the green creepers covering the hut behind her, and the
doe, which had started up in fear of the horse, pressing against her.

The man was the king of the country, whose name was Dridha-Varman. He had been
hunting and had got separated from his attendants. He was very much surprised
to find anyone living in the very depths of the forest, and was going to ask
the young girl who she was, when Kadali-Garbha saw her father coming along the
path leading to his home. Jumping up, she ran to meet him, glad that he had
come; for she had never before seen a young man and was as shy as any of the
wild creatures of the woods. Now that Mana Kanaka was with her, she got over
her fright, and felt quite safe, clinging to his arm as he and the king talked
together.

3. Can you describe just how Kadali-Garbha felt when she saw the king?

4. Do you think it would have been a good or a bad thing for her to live all
the rest of her life in the forest?

CHAPTER III

Mana Kanaka knew at once that the man on the horse was the king; and a great
fear entered his heart when he saw how Dridha-Varman looked at his beloved only
child.

“Who are you, and who is that lovely girl?” asked the king. And
Mana Kanaka answered, “I am only a humble woodcutter; and this is my only
child, whose mother has long been dead.”

“Her mother must have been a very lovely woman, if her daughter is like
her,” said the king. “Never before have I seen such perfect
beauty.”

“Her mother,” replied Mana Kanaka, “was indeed what you say;
and her soul was as beautiful as the body in which it dwelt all too short a
time.”

“I would have your daughter for my wife,” said the king; “and
if you will give her to me, she shall have no wish ungratified. She shall have
servants to wait on her and other young girls to be her companions; beautiful
clothes to wear, the best of food to eat, horses and carriages as many as she
will, and no work to do with her own hands.”

5. If you had been Kadali-Garbha, what would you have said when you heard all
these promises?

6. Of all the things the king said she should have, which would you have liked
best?

CHAPTER IV

What Kadali-Garbha did was to cling closely to her father, hiding her face on
his arm and whispering, “I will not leave you: do not send me away from
you, dear father.”

Mana Kanaka stroked her hair, and said in a gentle voice:

“But, dear child, your father is old, and must leave you soon. It is a
great honour for his little girl to be chosen by the king for his bride. Do not
be afraid, but look at him and see how handsome he is and how kind he
looks.”

Then Kadali-Garbha looked at the king, who smiled at her and looked so charming
that her fear began to leave her. She still clung to her father, but no longer
hid her face; and Mana Kanaka begged Kadali-Garbha to let him send her away, so
that he might talk with the king alone about the wish he had expressed to marry
her. The king consented to this, and Kadali-Garbha gladly ran away. But when
she reached the door of her home, she looked back, and knew in her heart that
she already loved the king and did not want him to go away.

It did not take long for the matter of the marriage to be settled. For Mana
Kanaka, sad though he was to lose his dear only child, was glad that she should
be a queen, and have some one to take care of her when he was gone. After this
first visit to the little house in the forest the king came every day to see
Kadali-Garbha, bringing all kinds of presents for her. She learnt to love him
so much that she became as eager as he was for the wedding to be soon. When the
day was fixed, the king sent several ladies of his court to dress the bride in
clothes more beautiful that she had ever dreamt of; and in them she looked more
lovely even than the first day her lover had seen her.

Now amongst these ladies was a very wise woman who could see what was going to
happen; and she knew that there would be troubles for the young queen in the
palace, because many would be jealous of her happiness. She was very much taken
with the beautiful innocent girl, and wanted to help her so much that she
managed to get her alone for a few minutes, when she said to her: “I want
you to promise me something. It is to take this packet of mustard seeds, hide
it in the bosom of your dress, and when you ride to the palace with your
husband, strew the seed along the path as you go. You know how quickly mustard
grows. Well, it will spring up soon; and if you want to come home again, you
can easily find the way by following the green shoots. Alas, I fear they will
not have time to wither before you need their help!”

Kadali-Garbha laughed when the wise woman talked about trouble coming to her.
She was so happy, she could not believe she would want to come home again so
soon. “My father can come to me when I want him,” she said.
“I need only tell my dear husband to send for him.” But for all
that she took the packet of seeds and hid it in her dress.

7. Would you have done as the wise woman told you if you had been the bride?

8. Ought Kadali-Garbha to have told the king about the mustard seed?

CHAPTER V

After the wedding was over, the king mounted his beautiful horse, and bending
down, took his young wife up before him. Holding her close to him with his
right arm, he held the reins in his left hand; and away they went, soon leaving
all the attendants far behind them, the queen scattering the mustard seed as
she had promised to do. When they arrived at the palace there were great
rejoicings, and everybody seemed charmed with the queen, who was full of eager
interest in all that she saw.

For several weeks there was nobody in the wide world so happy and light-hearted
as the bride. The king spent many hours a day with her, and was never tired of
listening to all she had to tell him about her life in the forest with her
father. Every day he gave her some fresh proof of his love, and he never
refused to do anything she asked him to do. But presently a change came.
Amongst the ladies of the court there was a beautiful woman, who had hoped to
be queen herself, and hated Kadali-Garbha so much that she made up her mind to
get her into disgrace with the king. She asked first one powerful person and
then another to help her; but everybody loved the queen, and the wicked woman
began to be afraid that those she had told about her wish to harm her would
warn the king. So she sought about for some one who did not know Kadali-Garbha,
and suddenly remembered a wise woman named Asoka-Mala, who lived in a cave not
far from the town, to whom many people used to go for advice in their
difficulties. She went to this woman one night, and told her a long story in
which there was not one word of truth. The young queen, she said, did not
really love the king; and with the help of her father, who was a magician, she
meant to poison him. How could this terrible thing be prevented, she asked; and
she promised that if only Asoka-Mala would help to save Dridha-Varman, she
would give her a great deal of money.

Asoka-Mala guessed at once that the story was not true, and that it was only
because the woman was jealous of the beautiful young queen that she wished to
hurt her. But she loved money very much. Instead therefore of at once refusing
to have anything to do with the matter, she said: “Bring me fifty gold
pieces now, and promise me another fifty when the queen is sent away from the
palace, and I will tell you what to do.”

The wicked woman promised all this at once. The very next night she brought the
first fifty pieces of gold to the cave, and Asoka-Mala told her that she must
get the barber, who saw the king alone every day, to tell him he had found out
a secret about the queen. “You must tell the barber all you have already
told me. But be very careful to give some proof of your story. For if you do
not do so, you will only have wasted the fifty gold pieces you have already
given to me; and, more than that, you will be terribly punished for trying to
hurt the queen, whom everybody loves.”

9. Do you think this plot against Kadali-Garbha was likely to succeed?

10. Can you think of any way in which the wise woman might have helped the
queen and also have gained a reward for herself?

CHAPTER VI

The wicked woman went back to the palace, thinking all the way to herself,
“How can I get a proof of what is not true?” At last an idea came
into her head. She knew that the queen loved to wander in the forest, and that
she was not afraid of the wild creatures, but seemed to understand their
language. She would tell the barber that Kadali-Garbha was a witch and knew the
secrets of the woods; that she had been seen gathering wild herbs, some of them
poisonous, and had been heard muttering strange words to herself as she did so.

Early the next morning the cruel woman went to see the barber, and promised him
a reward if he would tell the king what she had found out about his wife.
“He won’t believe you at first,” she said; “but you
must go on telling him till he does. You are clever, enough,” she added,
“to make up something he will believe if what I have thought of is no
good.”

The barber, who had served the king for many years, would not at first agree to
help to make him unhappy. But he too liked money very much, and in the end he
promised to see what he could do if he was well paid for it. He was, as the
wicked woman had said, clever enough; and he knew from long experience just how
to talk to his master. He began by asking the king if he had heard of the
lovely woman who was sometimes seen by the woodmen wandering about alone in the
forest, with wild creatures following her. Remembering how he had first seen
Kadali-Garbha, Dridha-Varman at once guessed that she was the lovely woman. But
he did not tell the barber so; for he was so proud of his dear wife’s
beauty that he liked to hear her praised, and wanted the man to go on talking
about her. He just said: “What is she like? Is she tall or short, fair or
dark?” The barber answered the questions readily. Then he went on to say
that it was easy to see that the lady was as clever as she was beautiful; for
she knew not only all about animals but also about plants. “Every
day,” he said, “she gathers quantities of herbs, and I have been
told she makes healing medicines of them. Some even go so far as to say she
also makes poisons. But, for my part, I do not believe that; she is too
beautiful to be wicked.”

The king listened, and a tiny little doubt crept into his mind about his wife.
She had never told him about the herbs she gathered, although she often
chattered about her friends in the forest. Perhaps after all it was not
Kadali-Garbha the barber was talking about. He would ask her if she knew
anything about making medicines from herbs. He did so when they were alone
together, and she said at once, “Oh, yes! My father taught me. But I have
never made any since I was married.”

“Are you sure?” asked the king; and she answered laughing,
“Of course, I am: how could I be anything but sure? I have no need to
think of medicine-making, now I am the queen.”

Dridha-Varman said no more at the time. But he was troubled; and when the
barber came again, he began at once to ask about the woman who had been seen in
the woods. The wicked man was delighted, and made up a long story. He said one
of the waiting women had told him of what she had seen. The woman, he said, had
followed the lady home one day, and that home was not far from the palace. She
had seen her bending over a fire above which hung a great sauce-pan full of
water, into which she flung some of the herbs she had gathered, singing as she
did so, in a strange language.

“Could it possibly be,” thought the king, “that Kadali-Garbha
had deceived him? Was she perhaps a witch after all?” He remembered that
he really did not know who she was, or who her father was. He had loved her
directly he saw her, just because she was so beautiful. What was he to do now?
He was quite sure, from the description the barber had given of the woman in
the forest, that she was his wife. He would watch her himself in future, and
say nothing to her that would make her think he was doing so.

11. What should the king have done when he heard the barber’s story?

12. Can you really love anybody truly whom you do not trust?

CHAPTER VII

Although the king said nothing to his wife about what the barber had told him,
he could not treat her exactly as he did before he heard it, and she very soon
began to wonder what she had done to vex him. The first thing she noticed was
that one of the ladies of the court always followed her when she went into the
forest. She did not like this; because she so dearly loved to be alone with the
wild creatures, and they did not come to her when any one else was near. She
told the lady to go away, and she pretended to do so; but she only kept a
little further off. And though the queen could no longer see her, she knew she
was there, and so did the birds and the deer. This went on for a little time;
and then Kadali-Garbha asked her husband to tell every one that she was not to
be disturbed when she went to see her friends in the forest.

“I am afraid,” said the king, “that some harm will come to
you. There are wild beasts in the depths of the wood who might hurt you. And
what should I do if any harm came to my dear one?”

Kadali-Garbha was grieved when Dridha-Varman said this, for she knew it was not
true; and she looked at him so sadly that he felt ashamed of having doubted
her. All would perhaps have been well even now, if he had told her of the story
he had heard about her, because then she could have proved that it was not
true. But he did not do that; he only said, “I cannot let you be alone so
far from home. Why not be content with the lovely gardens all round the palace?
If you still wish to go to the woods, I will send one of the game-keepers with
you instead of the lady who has been watching you. Then he can protect you if
any harmful creature should approach.”

“If my lord does not wish me to be alone in the forest,” answered
the queen, “I will be content with the gardens. For no birds or animals
would come near me if one of their enemies were with me. But,” she added,
as her eyes filled with tears, “will not my lord tell me why he no longer
trusts his wife, who loves him with all her heart?”

The king was very much touched by what Kadali-Garbha said, but still could not
make up his mind to tell her the truth. So he only embraced her fondly, and
said she was a good little wife to be so ready to obey him. The queen went away
very sadly, wondering to herself what she could do to prove to her dear lord
that she loved him as much as ever. She took care never to go outside the
palace gardens, but she longed very much for her old freedom, and began to grow
pale and thin.

The wicked woman who had tried to do her harm was very much disappointed that
she had only succeeded in making her unhappy; so she went again to Asoka-Mala,
and promised her more money if only she would think of some plan to get the
king to send his wife away. The wise woman considered a long time, and then she
said: “You must use the barber again. He goes from house to house, and he
must tell the king that the beautiful woman, who used to roam about in the
forest collecting herbs, has been seen there again in the dead of the night,
when she could be sure no one would find out what she was doing.”

Now it so happened that Kadali-Garbha was often unable to sleep because of her
grief that the king did not love her so much as he used to do. One night she
got so tired of lying awake that she got up very quietly, so as not to disturb
her husband, and putting on her sari, she went out into the gardens, hoping
that the fresh air might help her to sleep. Presently the king too woke up, and
finding that his wife was no longer beside him, he became very uneasy, and was
about to go and seek her, when she came back. He asked her where she had been;
and she told him exactly what had happened, but she did not explain why she
could not sleep.

13. What mistake did the queen make in her treatment of the king?

14. Do you think it is more hurtful to yourself and to others to talk too much
or too little?

CHAPTER VIII

When the barber was shaving the king the next morning, he told him he had heard
that people were saying the beautiful woman had been seen again one night,
gathering herbs and muttering to herself. “They talk, my lord,”
said the man, “of your own name having been on her lips; and those who
love and honour you are anxious for your safety. Maybe the woman is indeed a
witch, who for some reason of her own will try to poison you.”

Now Dridha-Varman remembered that Kadali-Garbha had left him the night before,
“and perhaps,” he thought, “at other times when I was
asleep.” He could scarcely wait until the barber had finished shaving
him, so eager was he to find out the truth. He hurried to his wife’s
private room, but she was not there; and her ladies told him she had not been
seen by them that day. This troubled him terribly, and he roused the whole
palace to seek her. Messengers were soon hurrying to and fro, but not a trace
of her could be found. Dridha-Varman was now quite sure that the woman the
barber had talked about was Kadali-Garbha, the wife he had so loved and
trusted. “Perhaps,” he thought, “she has left poison in my
food, and has gone away so as not to see me die.” He would neither eat
nor drink, and he ordered all the ladies whose duty it was to wait on the queen
to be locked up till she was found. Amongst them was the wicked woman who had
done all the mischief because of her jealousy of the beautiful young queen, and
very much she wished she had never tried to harm her.

15. Where do you suppose the queen had gone?

16. What mistake did the king make when he heard the queen was missing?

CHAPTER IX

In her trouble about the loss of the king’s love Kadali-Garbha longed for
her father, for she felt sure he would be able to help her. So she determined
to go to him. With the aid of the wise woman who had given her the packet of
mustard seed, and who had been her best friend at court, she disguised herself
as a messenger, and, mounted on a strong little pony, she sped along the path
marked out by the young shoots of mustard, reaching her old home in the forest
before the night fell. Great indeed was the joy of Mana Kanaka at the sight of
his beloved child, and very soon she had poured out all her sorrow to him. The
hermit was at first very much enraged with his son-in-law for the way in which
he had treated Kadali-Garbha, and declared that he would use all the powers he
had to punish him. “Never,” he said, “shall he see your dear
face again; but I will go to him and call down on him all manner of
misfortunes. You know not, dear child, I have never wished you to know, that I
am a magician and can make the very beasts of the field and the winds of heaven
obey me. I know full well who has made this mischief between you and your
husband, and I will see that punishment overtakes them.”

“No, no, father,” cried Kadali-Garbha; “I will not have any
harm done to my dear one, for I love him with all my heart. All I ask of you is
to prove to him that I am innocent of whatever fault he thinks I have
committed, and to make him love and trust me again.”

It was hard work to persuade Mana Kanaka to promise not to harm the king, but
in the end he yielded. Together the father and daughter rode back to the
palace, and together they were brought before Dridha-Varman, who, in spite of
the anger he had felt against his wife, was overjoyed to see her. When he
looked at her clinging to Mana Kanaka’s arm, as she had done the first
time they met, all his old love returned, and he would have taken her in his
arms and told her so before the whole court, if she had not drawn back. It was
Mana Kanaka who was the first to speak. Drawing himself up to his full height,
and pointing to the king, he charged him with having broken his vow to love and
protect his wife. “You have listened to lying tongues,” he said,
“and I will tell you to whom those tongues belong, that justice may be
done to them.”

Once more Kadali-Garbha interfered. “No, father,” she said;
“let their names be forgotten: only prove to my lord that I am his loving
faithful wife, and I will be content.”

“I need no proof,” cried Dridha-Varman; “but lest others
should follow their evil example, I will have vengeance on the slanderers. Name
them, and their doom shall be indeed a terrible one.”

Then Mana Kanaka told the king the whole sad story; and when it was ended the
wicked woman who had first thought of injuring the queen, and the barber who
had helped her, were sent for to hear their doom, which was—to be shut
up for the rest of their lives in prison. This was changed to two years only,
because Kadali-Garbha was generous enough to plead for them. As for the third
person in the plot, the old witch of the cave, not a word was said about her by
anybody. Mana Kanaka knew well enough what her share in the matter had been;
but magicians and witches are careful not to make enemies of each other, and so
he held his peace.

Dridha-Varman was so grateful to his father-in-law for bringing his wife back
to him, that he wanted him to stop at court, and said he would give him a very
high position there. But Mana Kanaka refused every reward, declaring that he
loved his little home in the forest better than the grand rooms he might have
had in the palace. “All I wish for,” he said, “is my dear
child’s happiness. I hope you will never again listen to stories against
your wife. If you do, you may be very sure that I shall hear of it; and next
time I know that you have been unkind to her I will punish you as you
deserve.”

The king was obliged to let Mana Kanaka go, but after this he took
Kadali-Garbha to see her father in the forest very often. Later, when the queen
had some children of her own, their greatest treat was to go to the little
home, in the depths of the wood. They too learnt to love animals, and had a
great many pets, but none of those pets were kept in cages.

17. What is the chief lesson to be learnt from this story?

18. Which of all the people in this tale do you like best?

19. What do you think is the greatest power in all the world?

20. If you had been Kadali-Garbha would you have forgiven those who tried to do
you harm?

NOTES

[1]
The city which occupied the site of present Patna was known as Patali-Putra in
the time of Alexander the Great.

[2]
There are seventy-two versions of this tale in vogue amongst the high
castes of India; the one here given is taken from Raj-Yoga, the highest form of
Hindu ascetic philosophy.