Chapter 19

Meanwhile her husband and the kotwál's son heard of her being sent into the jungle, so they returned to the old woman's house and put on their own clothes. Then they went to the jungle to find her. She was still crying, and her husband asked her why she cried. She told him, and he said, "Why did you try to poison my friend? You were very wicked to do so." "Yes," said the kotwál's son; "Why did you try to kill me? I have never done you any wrong or hurt you. It was I who told your husband what you meant by putting the rose to your teeth, behind your ear, and at your feet. Without me he would never have found you, never have married you." Then she knew at once who had brought all this trouble to her, and she was very sorry she had tried to kill her husband's friend.

They all three now went home to her husband's country; and his father and mother were very glad indeed that their son had married a Rájá's daughter, and the Rájá gave the kotwál's son a very grand present.

The young Rájá and his wife lived with his father and mother, and were always very happy together.

Told by Múniyá, February, 1879.

FOOTNOTE:

[6] The chief police officer in a town.

[Decoration]

XXVIII.

THE CLEVER WIFE.

In a country there was a merchant who traded in all kinds of merchandise, and used to make journeys from country to country in his boat to buy and sell his goods. He one day said to his wife, "I cannot stay at home any more, for I must go on a year's journey to carry on my business." And he added, laughing, "When I return I expect to find you have built me a grand well; and also, as you are such a clever wife, to see a little son." Then he got into his boat and went away.

When he was gone his wife set to work, and she spun four hanks of beautiful thread with her own hands. Then she dressed herself in her prettiest clothes, and put on her finest jewels. "I am going to the bazar," she said to her ayahs, "to sell this thread." "That is not right," said one of the ayahs. "You must not sell your thread yourself, but let me sell it for you. What will your husband say if he hears you have been selling thread in the bazar?" "I will sell my thread myself," answered the merchant's wife. "You could never sell it for me."

So off she set to the bazar, and every one in it said, "What a beautiful woman that is!" At last the kotwál saw her, and came to her at once.

"What beautiful thread!" he said. "Is it for sale?" "Yes," she said. "How much a hank?" said the kotwál. "Fifty rupees," she answered. "Fifty rupees! Who will ever give you fifty rupees for it?" "I will not sell it for less," said the woman. "I shall get fifty rupees for it." "Well," said the kotwál, "I will give you the fifty rupees. Can I dine with you at your house?" "Yes," she answered, "to-night at ten o'clock." Then he took the thread and gave her fifty rupees.

Then she went away to another bazar, and there the king's wazír saw her trying to sell her thread. "What lovely thread! Is it for sale?" he said. "Yes, at one hundred rupees the hank," she answered. "Well, I will give you one hundred rupees. Can I dine with you at your house?" said the wazír. "Yes," she answered, "to-night at eleven o'clock." "Good," said the wazír; "here are the hundred rupees." And he took the thread and went away.

The merchant's wife now went to a third bazar, and there the king's kází saw her. "Is that beautiful thread for sale?" he asked. "Yes," she answered, "for one hundred and fifty rupees." "I will give you the hundred and fifty rupees. Can I dine with you at your house?" "Yes," she said, "to-night at twelve o'clock." "I will come," said the kází. "Here are one hundred and fifty rupees." So she took the rupees and gave him the thread.

She set off with the fourth hank to the fourth bazar, and in this bazar was the king's palace. The king saw her, and asked if the thread was for sale. "Yes," she said, "for five hundred rupees." "Give me the thread," said the king; "here are your five hundred rupees. Can I dine with you at your house?" "Yes," she said, "to-night at two o'clock."

Then she went home and sent one of her servants to the bazar to buy her four large chests; and she told her other servants that they were to get ready four very good dinners for her. Each dinner was to be served in a different room; and one was to be ready at ten o'clock that night, one at eleven, one at twelve, and one at two in the morning. The servant brought her four large chests, and she had them placed in four different rooms.

At ten o'clock the kotwál arrived. The merchant's wife greeted him graciously, and they sat down and dined. After dinner she said to him, "Can you play at cards?" "Yes," he answered. She brought some cards, and they sat and played till the clock struck eleven, when the doorkeeper came in to say, "The wazír is here, and wishes to see you." The kotwál was in a dreadful fright. "Do hide me somewhere," he said to her. "I have no place where you can hide in this room," she answered; "but in another room I have a big chest. I will shut you up in that if you like, and when the wazír is gone, I will let you out of it." So she took him into the next room, and he got into one of the four big chests, and she shut down the lid and locked it.

Then she bade the doorkeeper bring in the wazír, and they dined together. After dinner she said, "Can you play at cards?" "Yes," said the wazír. She took out the cards, and they played till twelve o'clock, when the doorkeeper came to say the kází had come to see her. "Oh, hide me! hide me!" cried the wazír in a great fright. "If you come to another room," she said, "I will hide you in a big chest I have. I can let you out when he is gone." So she locked the wazír up in the second chest.

She and the kází now dined. Then she said, "Can you play at cards?" "Yes," said the kází. So they sat playing at cards till two o'clock, when the doorkeeper said the king had come to see her. "Oh, what shall I do?" said the kází, terribly frightened. "Do hide me. Do not let me be seen by the king." "You can hide in a big chest I have in another room, if you like," she answered, "till he is gone." And she locked up the kází in her third chest.

The king now came in, and they dined. "Will you play a little game at cards?" she asked. "Yes," said the king. So they played till three o'clock, when the doorkeeper came running in (just as she had told him to do) to say, "My master's boat has arrived, and he is coming up to the house. He will be here directly." "Now what shall I do?" said the king, who was as frightened as the others had been. "Here is your husband. He must not see me. You must hide me somewhere." "I have no place to hide you in," she said, "but a big chest. You can get into that if you like, and I will let you out to-morrow morning." So she shut the lid of the fourth chest down on the king and locked him up. Then she went to bed, and to sleep, and slept till morning.

The next day, after she had bathed and dressed, and eaten her breakfast, and done all her household work, she said to her servants, "I want four coolies." So the servants went for the coolies; and when they came she showed them the four chests, and said, "Each of you must take one of these chests on your head and come with me." Then they set out with her, each carrying a chest.

Meanwhile the kotwál's son, the wazír's son, the kází's son, and the king's son, had been roaming about looking everywhere for their fathers, and asking every one if they had seen them, but no one knew anything about them.

The merchant's wife went first to the kotwál's house, and there she saw the kotwál's son. She had the kotwál's chest set down on the ground before his door. "Will you buy this chest?" she said to his son. "What is in it?" he asked. "A most precious thing," she answered. "How much do you want for it?" said his son. "One thousand rupees," she said; "and when you open the chest, you will see the contents are worth two thousand. But you must not open it till you are in your father's house." "Well," said the kotwál's son, "here are a thousand rupees." The woman and the other three chests went on their way, while he took his into the house. "What a heavy chest!" he said. "What can be inside?" Then he lifted the lid. "Why, there's my father!" he cried. "Father, how came you to be in this chest?" The kotwál was very much ashamed of himself. "I never thought she was the woman to play me such a trick," he said; and then he had to tell his son the whole story.

The merchant's wife next stopped at the wazír's house, and there she saw the wazír's son. The wazír's chest was put down before his door, and she said to his son, "Will you buy this chest?" "What is inside of it?" he asked. "A most precious thing," she answered. "Will you buy it?" "How much do you want for it?" asked the son. "Only two thousand rupees, and it is worth three thousand." So the wazír's son bought his father, without knowing it, for two thousand rupees. "You must not open the chest till you are in the house," said the merchant's wife. The wazír's son opened the chest in the house at once, wondering what could be in it; and the wazír's wife stood by all the time. When they saw the wazír himself, looking very much ashamed, they were greatly astonished. "How came you there?" they cried. "Where have you been?" said his wife. "Oh," said the wazír, "I never thought she was a woman to treat me like this;" and he, too, had to tell all his story.

Now the merchant's wife stopped at the kází's door, and there stood the kází's son. "Will you buy this chest?" she said to him, and had the kází's chest put on the ground. "What is in it?" said the kází's son. "Silver and gold," she answered. "You shall have it for three thousand rupees. The contents are worth four." "Well, I will take it," said the son. "Don't open it till you are in your house," she said, and took her three thousand rupees and went away. Great was the excitement when the kází stepped out of the chest. "Oh!" he groaned, "I never thought she could behave like this to me."

The merchant's wife now went to the palace, and set the king's chest down at the palace gates. There she saw the king's son. "Will you buy this chest?" she said. "What is in it?" asked the prince. "Diamonds, pearls, and all kinds of precious stones," said the merchant's wife. "You shall have the chest for five thousand rupees, but its contents are worth a great deal more." "Well," said the king's son, "here are your five thousand rupees; give me the chest." "Don't open it out here," she said. "Take it into the palace and open it there." And away she went home.

The king's son opened the chest, and there was his father. "What's all this?" cried the prince. "How came _you_ to be in the chest?" The king was very much ashamed, and did not tell much about his adventure; but when he was sitting in his court-house, he had the merchant's wife brought to him, and gave her a quantity of rupees, saying, "You are a wise and clever woman."

Now the kotwál knew the wazír had gone to see the merchant's wife; and the wazír knew the kází had gone; and the kází, that the king had gone; but this was all that any of them knew.

The merchant's wife had now plenty of rupees, so she had a most beautiful well built and roofed over. Then she locked the door of the well, and told the servants no one was to drink any of its water, or bathe in it, till her husband came home: he was to be the first to drink its water, and bathe in the well.

Then she sent her ayah to the bazar to buy her clothes and ornaments such as cowherd's wives and daughter's wear; and when the ayah had brought her these, she packed them up in a box. Then she dressed herself in men's clothes, so that no one could tell she was a woman, and ordered a horse to be got ready for her. "I am going to eat the air of another country for a little while," she said. "You must all take great care of the house while I am away." The servants did not like her going away at all; they were afraid her husband might return during her absence, and that he would be angry with them for having let her go. "Don't be afraid," she said. "There is nothing to be frightened about. I shall come back all right."

So she set out, taking the key of the well, the box with the clothes her ayah had bought for her in the bazar, and plenty of rupees. She also took two of her servants. She travelled a long, long way, asking everywhere for her husband's boat. At last at the end of a month she came to where it was. Here she hired a little house, and dressed herself like a cowherd's daughter. Then she got some very good milk, and went down to the banks of the river to sell it. Everybody said, "Do look what a beautiful woman that is selling milk!" She sold her milk very quickly, it was so good. This she did for several days, till her husband, the merchant, saw her. He thought her so beautiful, that he asked her to bring him some milk to his boat. So every day for a little while she sold him milk. One day he said to her, "Will you marry me?" "How can I marry you?" she said. "You are a merchant, and I am a cowherd's daughter. Soon you will be leaving this country, and will travel to another in your boat; you will want me to go with you. Then I shall have to leave my father and mother, and who will take care of them?" "Let us be married," said the merchant. "I am going to stay here for three months. When I go, you shall return to your father and mother, and later I will come back to you." To this she agreed, and they were married, and she went to live in the boat. At the end of three months, the merchant said to her, "My business here is done, and I must go to another country. Would you like to go home to your father and mother while I am away?" "Yes," she said. "Here are some rupees for you to live on in my absence," he said. "I do not want any rupees," said his wife. "I only want you to give me two things: your old cap, and your picture." These he gave her, and then he went to his boat, and she went back to her own home.

Some time afterwards she had a little son. The servants were greatly frightened, for they thought their master would not be pleased when he came home; and he was not pleased when he did come two months later. He was so cross that he would not look at the baby-boy, and he would hardly look at his beautiful well.

One night he lay awake thinking, and he thought he would kill his wife and her little son. But the next day she came to him: "Tell me the truth," she said; "you are angry with me? Don't be angry, for I want to show you a picture I like very much--the picture of my boy's father." Then she showed him his own picture, and the old cap he had given her on board his boat; and she told him how she had been the cowherd's daughter; and also how she had gained the money to build his well. "You see," she said, "I have done all you bade me. Here is your well, and here is your son." Then the merchant was very happy. He kissed and loved his little son, and thought his well was beautiful; and he said to his wife, "What a clever woman you are!"

Told by Múniyá, Calcutta, March 3rd, 1879.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XXIX.

RÁJÁ HARICHAND'S PUNISHMENT.

There was once a great Rájá, Rájá Harichand, who every morning before he bathed and breakfasted used to give away one hundred pounds weight of gold to the fakírs, his poor ryots, and other poor people. This he did in the name of God, "For," he said, "God loves me and gives me everything that I have; so daily I will give him this gold."

Now God heard what a good man Rájá Harichand was, and how much the Rájá loved him, and he thought he would go and see for himself if all that was said of the Rájá were true. He therefore went as a fakír to Rájá Harichand's palace and stood at his gate. The Rájá had already given away his hundred pounds' weight of gold, and gone into his palace and bathed and breakfasted; so when his servants came to tell him that another fakír stood at his gate, the Rájá said, "Bid him come to-morrow, for I have bathed, and have eaten my breakfast, and therefore cannot attend to him now." The servants returned to the fakír, and told him, "The Rájá says you must come to-morrow, for he cannot see you now, as he has bathed and breakfasted." God went away, and the next day he again came, after all the fakírs and poor people had received their gold and the Rájá had gone into his palace. So the Rájá told his servants, "Bid the fakír come to-morrow. He has again come too late for me to see him now."

On the third day God was once more too late, for the Rájá had gone into his palace. The Rájá was vexed with him for being a third time too late, and said to his servants, "What sort of a fakír is this that he always comes too late? Go and ask him what he wants." So the servants went to the fakír and said, "Rájá Harichand says, 'What do you want from him?'" "I want no rupees," answered God, "nor anything else; but I want him to give me his wife." The servants told this to the Rájá, and it made him very angry. He went to his wife, the Rání Báhan, and said to her, "There is a fakír at the gate who asks me to give you to him! As if I should ever do such a thing! Fancy my giving him my wife!"

The Rání was very wise and clever, for she had a book, which she read continually, called the kop shástra; and this book told her everything. So she knew that the fakír at the gate was no fakír, but God himself. (In old days about two people in a thousand, though not more, could read this book; now-a-days hardly any one can read it, for it is far too difficult.) So the Rání said to the Rájá, "Go to this fakír, and say to him, 'You shall have my wife.' You need not really give me to him; only give me to him in your thoughts." "I will do no such thing," said the Rájá in a rage; and in spite of all her entreaties, he would not say to the fakír, "I will give you my wife." He ordered his servants to beat the fakír, and send him away; and so they did.

God returned to his place, and called to him two angels. "Take the form of men," he said to them, "and go to Rájá Harichand. Say to him, 'God has sent us to you. He says, Which will you have--a twelve years' famine throughout your land during which no rain will fall? or a great rain for twelve hours?'"

The angels came to the Rájá and said as God had bidden them. The Rájá thought for a long while which he should choose. "If a great rain pours down for twelve hours," he said to himself, "my whole country will be washed away. But I have a great quantity of gold. I have enough to send to other countries and buy food for myself and my ryots during the twelve years' famine." So he said to the angels, "I will choose the famine." Then the angels came into his palace; and the moment they entered it, all the Rájá's servants that were in the palace, and all his cows, horses, elephants, and other animals became stone. So did every single thing in the palace, excepting his gold and silver, and these turned to charcoal. The Rájá and Rání did not become stone.

The angels said to them, "For three weeks you will not be able to eat anything; you will not be able to eat any food you may find or may have given you. But you will not die, you will live." Then the angels went away.

The Rájá was very sad when he looked round his palace and saw everything in it, and all the people in it, stone, and saw all his gold and silver turned to charcoal. He said to his wife, "I cannot stay here. I must go to some other country. I was a great Rájá; how can I ask my ryots to give me food? We will dress ourselves like fakírs, and go to another country."

They put on fakírs' clothes and went out of their palace. They wandered in the jungle till they saw a plum-tree covered with fruit. "Do gather some of those plums for me," said the Rání, who was very hungry. The Rájá went to the tree and put out his hand to gather the plums; but when he did this, they at once all left the tree and went a little way up into the air. When he drew back his hand, the plums returned to the tree. The Rájá tried three times to gather the plums, but never could do so.

He and the Rání then went on till they came to a plain in another country, where was a large tank in which men were fishing. The Rání said to her husband, "Go and ask those men to give us a little of their fish, for I am very hungry." The Rájá went to the men and said, "I am a fakír, and have no pice. Will you give me some of your fish, for I have not eaten for four days and am hungry?" The men gave him some fish, and he and his wife carried it to a tank on another plain. The Rání cleaned and prepared the fish for cooking, and said to her husband, "I have nothing in which to cook this fish. Go up to the town (there was a town close by) and ask some one to give you an earthen pot with a lid, and some salt."

The Rájá went up to the town, and some one in the bazar gave him the earthen pot, and a grain merchant put a little salt into it. Then he returned to the Rání, and they made a fire under a tree, put the fish into the pot, and set the pot on the fire. "I have not bathed for some days," said the Rájá. "I will go and bathe while you cook the fish, and when I come back we will eat it." So he went to bathe, and the Rání sat watching the fish. Presently she thought, "If I leave the lid on the pot, the fish will dry up and burn." Then she took off the lid, and the fish instantly jumped out of the pot into the tank and swam away. This made the Rání sad; but she sat there quiet and silent. When the Rájá had bathed, he returned to his wife, and said, "Now we will eat our fish." The Rání answered, "I had not eaten for four days, and was very hungry, so I ate all the fish." "Never mind," said the Rájá, "it does not matter."

They wandered on, and the next day came to another jungle where they saw two pigeons. The Rájá took some grass and sticks, and made a bow and arrow. He shot the pigeons with these, and the Rání plucked and cleaned them. Her husband and she made a little fire, put the pigeons in their pot, and set them on it. There was a tank near. "Now I will go and bathe," said the Rání; "I have not bathed for some days. When I come back, we will eat the pigeons." So she went to bathe, and the Rájá sat down to watch the pigeons. Presently he thought, "If I leave the pot shut, the birds will dry up and burn." So he took off the lid, and instantly away flew the pigeons out of the pot. He guessed at once what the fish had done yesterday, and sat still and silent till the Rání came back. "I have eaten the pigeons in the same way that you ate the fish yesterday," he said to her. The Rání understood what had happened, and saw the Rájá knew how the fish had escaped.

So they wandered on; and as they went the Rání remembered an oil merchant, called Gangá Télí, a friend of theirs, and a great man, just like a Rájá. "Let us go to Gangá Télí, if we can walk as far as his house," she said. "He will be good to us." He lived a long way off. When they got to him, Gangá Télí knew them at once. "What has happened?" he said. "You were a great Rájá; why are you and the Rání so poor and dressed like fakírs?" "It is God's will," they answered. Gangá Télí did not think it worth while to notice them much now they were poor; so, though he did not send them away, he gave them a wretched room to live in, a wretched bed to lie on, and such bad food to eat that, hungry as they were, they could not touch it. "When we were rich," they said to each other, "and came to stay with Gangá Télí, he received us like friends; he gave us beautiful rooms to live in, beautiful beds to lie on, and delicious food to eat. We cannot stay here."