Chapter 21

4. Phúlmati Rání has on her head the sun, on her hands moons, and her face is covered with stars. Compare in these stories "The Indrásan Rájá," p. 1, "The boy who had a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin," p. 119, and "Prince Dímá-ahmad and Princess Atása," Notes, p. 253. In Fräulein Gonzenbach's _Sicilian Fairy Tales_, No. 5 (vol. I. p. 21), the king's son's children are born, the boy with a golden apple in his hand, the girl with a star on her forehead. In the Notes to this story (vol. II. p. 207) Herr Köhler mentions a Tyrolean fairy tale, "Zingerle, II. p. 112," where the king's son's daughter has a golden apple in her hand, and her brother a golden star on his forehead. In Milenowsky's _Bohemian Fairy Tales_, p. 1, is the story "Von den Sternprinzen" in which the king's son by the queen has a gold star on his forehead, and his son by the old woman has a silver star, p. 2. These princes' children also are born with gold and silver stars on their foreheads, p. 30. In a Hungarian tale, "Die verwandelten Kinder," the old man's youngest daughter promises, and keeps her promise, to give the king, if he marries her, twin sons, who will be most beautiful, will have golden hair, and each a golden ring on his arm; further, one is to have a planet, the other a sun on his forehead--Stier's _Ungarische Volksmaerchen_, p. 57. Also in the same author's _Ungarische Sagen und Maerchen_ in "Die beiden juengsten Koenigskinder," the hero wins a bride (p. 77) who has a sun on her forehead, a moon on her right, and three stars on her left, breast. In "Eisenlaci" in the same collection the snake-king's daughter has a star on her forehead (p. 109). Gubernatis (_Zoological Mythology_, vol. I. p. 412) says, "In the seventh story of the third book of Afanassieff, the queen bears two sons; one has a moon on his forehead and the other a star on the nape of his neck. Her wicked sister buries them; a golden and a silver sprout spring up which a sheep eats and then has two lambs, one with a moon on its head, the other with a star on its neck. The wicked sister who has married the king orders them to be torn in pieces, and their intestines to be thrown into the road. The good, lawful queen eats them and again gives birth to her sons." Gubernatis in the 2nd volume of the same work, p. 31, quotes another of Afanassieff's stories, the thirteenth of the third book, in which a merchant's wife has a son "whose body is all of gold, effigies of stars, moon, and sun covered it." This is the gold boy mentioned in the preceding paragraph as lighting up the room when his body was uncovered. In "Das Schwarze Lamm," the empress bears a son with a golden star on his forehead (Karadschitsch, _Volksmaerchen der Serben_, p. 177).

5. Phúlmati Rání weighs but one flower: compare Pánch Phúl Rání in _Old Deccan Days_, p. 133.

6. Indrásan (= Indra + Ásana, Indra's throne or home), says Dunkní, is the name of the underground fairy country. Its inhabitants, the fairies (parí) are called the Indrásan people; they delight in all lovely things; everything about them is beautiful; they play exquisitely on all kinds of musical instruments; they dance and sing a great deal; they have wings and can fly. They taught the little Monkey Prince (p. 42), and King Burtal's eldest son was taken to them as a pupil by the fakír Goraknáth, p. 93. In Indrásan grows a tree of which no man can ever see the flowers or fruit, as the fairies gather them in the night and take them away. The Irish "good people" who live in clefts of rocks, caves, and mounds, and the Irish fairies who live in the beautiful land of youth under the sea, have many points in common with the Indian fairies. They, too, dance beautifully, are wonderful musicians, and have everything about them lovely and splendid. The "good people" also sometimes impart their knowledge to mortals. See pp. x, xii, and xviii of the Introduction to the _Irische Elfenmaerchen_ translated into German by the brothers Grimm. Some of the Cornish fairies, the Small People, like the Indrásan people, live underground (Hunt's _Romances and Drolls of the West of England_, pp. 116, 118, 125), aid those to whom they take a fancy and are very playful among themselves (_ib._ p. 81); they have the most ravishing music (_ib._ pp. 86, 98); their singing is clear and delicate as silver bells (_ib._ p. 100); everything about them is joyous and beautiful (_ib._ pp. 86, 99, 100); they are a tiny race (_ib._ p. 81), but can at pleasure take the size of human beings (_ib._ pp. 115, 122, 123); and their queen has hair "like gold threads" (_ib._ p. 102). The fair-haired New Zealand fairies are, too, a kindly happy race. See Grey's _Polynesian Mythology_, pp. 287 to 295. Nothing is said about their dancing, but they are described as "merry, cheerful, and always singing like a cricket" (_ib._ p. 295), and from one of their fishing-nets left on the sea shore, when its fairy owners were surprised by the rising of the sun, the Maoris learnt the stitch for netting a net. Like the Indian fairies they appear to be as big as human beings.

7. Phúlmati Rání is drowned in a tank and becomes a flower; she is killed and brought to life several times: compare in this collection the story of the "Pomegranate Children" and note to that story. In one of Ralston's _Russian Folk-Tales_, "The Fiend," p. 15, the heroine is killed through witchcraft: from her grave springs a flower which is herself transformed: she afterwards regains her human shape.

8. With Phúlmati's last transformation compare the last that the Bél-Princess goes through (p. 148 of this collection), and that of a woman, who figures in a Dinájpur story published by Mr. G. H. Damant in the _Indian Antiquary_ of April 5th, 1872, vol. I. p. 115. She, though living in the Rakshas country, is not a Rakshas, but does not appear to be an ordinary mortal, and when cut to bits by a certain magic knife becomes a tree. "Her feet became a silver stem, her two hands golden branches, her head ornaments were diamond leaves, all her bracelets and bangles were pearly fruits, and her head was a peacock dancing and playing in the branches." As soon as the magic knife is thrown to the ground she regains her human form.

Eisenlaci in Stier's _Ungarische Sagen und Maerchen_ (pp. 107-109) comes in the form of a horse to the twelve-headed dragon's house. He is killed; the first two drops of his blood are thrown into the garden and from them springs a tree with golden apples: the tree is cut down, but the first two chips (which are flung into the pond) become a gold fish: the gold fish turns into Eisenlaci himself in human form.

9. Winning a wife by seizing her dress while she bathes is an incident common to fairy tales of many countries.

II.--THE POMEGRANATE KING.

1. Such is the story as told by Dunkní in 1876; at that time, when it was read over to her, she said it was correct. On my asking her in 1878, when the story was going through the press, to explain some points in it, such as why the children said they had been brought to life _three_ times, the boy having only died twice, and the girl once, she told me the following variation: After the attempt to get rid of the boy by making him into a curry had failed, the Rání Sunkásí sent for a sepoy and bade him carry the two children to the jungle and there kill them; and as a proof of their death he was to bring her their livers. Once in the jungle with the children, the sepoy had not the heart to kill them; so he left them in it, and brought the livers of two goats to Sunkásí Rání. She buried the livers in the garden and was content; but some months later as she was walking (literally "eating the air") in the jungle she saw her step-children playing about; she returned to the palace, sent for the sepoy, and asked him why he had not killed the children. "I did kill them," said the sepoy, "and brought you their livers." "Those livers were not the children's livers," answered the Rání; "I have just seen the children alive and playing in the jungle." "They must have been other people's children that you saw," said the sepoy, "yours I killed." "Do not tell me lies," said the Rání. "Now you must at once go to the jungle, kill the children, and bring me their eyes." The sepoy went to find the children, but when he found them he could not kill them, so he took them to some people who lived in a hut, and said to these people, "Take great care of the two children. Be very kind to them." He then killed two goats and took their eyes to the Rání, who was now satisfied for some time. But one day another of the Pomegranate Rájá's sepoys passed near the hut, and saw the children playing about. So he went to Sunkásí Rání and told her the children were alive and well. At this the Rání was very angry, and she thought, "It is of no use my sending the first sepoy again to kill them. I will send this man." She said, therefore, to the second sepoy, "If you will kill these children for me, you shall have a great reward." The sepoy agreed, went to the little hut, and seized the children. The poor people who took care of the children begged and prayed him to have pity on them; but the sepoy said, "No." He had the Rání's orders to kill them, and they must and should be killed. And so he killed them and brought their livers to the Rání as she had bidden him. Sunkásí Rání was very happy when she saw the livers, and she buried them close to a large tank that was in her garden.

Some three months later her servants came to her and told her a beautiful large bél-fruit was floating on the water of the tank. Sunkásí Rání went at once with them to the tank, and when she saw the fruit she was seized with a great longing to have it. So she sent all her servants, one after the other, into the tank to fetch it; but all to no purpose, for as soon as any one of them got close to the fruit it floated away from him. Then the Rání herself went into the tank. She, however, was not a whit more able to get it: when she thought she had only to put out her hand to take it, the fruit rose up into the air, and fell into the water again as soon as she had come up out of the tank. She went to the Mahárájá and told him of this lovely bél-fruit, and then went to her room while he came down to the tank. He said, "I should like to catch the fruit: I wonder if I can do so. What a lovely fruit!" As soon as he put his hand into the water the fruit came floating towards him, and floated into it. "I think this fruit is quite ripe," said the Mahárájá. "Quite ripe," said the servants, and they struck it with a stone to break it open. "Oh, you hurt us! you hurt us!" cried little voices from inside the bél-fruit. "Gently, gently; don't hurt us." The Mahárájá and all the servants were greatly surprised, and the Mahárájá went to Sunkásí Rání, and told her all about the little voices. She at once guessed her step-children were in the fruit, so she said to the Mahárájá, "You had better take the fruit to the jungle and there break it open with a big stone, so that anything inside it may be crushed to bits." "I will not do that," said the Mahárájá. Then he went back to his servants and made them cut the fruit's rind very carefully cross-ways and the fruit broke into halves: in one half sat his little son, in the other his little daughter. As soon as the halves were laid on the ground the children stepped out, and at once grew to their natural size. Their father was very angry when he saw them. "Why, I thought you were at school," said he. "The Mahárání told me you were at school. Why are you not there? What funny (Dunkní's own word) children you are to get into this bél-fruit! What made you like to live in a fruit?" But to all his questionings and scoldings the children said not one word. At last he sent them up to the palace, and there they stayed with him for some three months. But the Mahárání said to him, "These are not your children. Yours are at school." "They _are_ my children," he answered.

All this time the Mahárání hated them more and more, and at last she went to them and said, "Now I really will kill you." "Just as you please," answered the children; "we don't mind being killed. You may kill us three times, four times, as often as you like: it does not matter in the least; for God will always bring us to life again."

At this Sunkásí Rání flew into a rage and she called her servants and said, "Kill these children, cut them into mince-meat and throw them to the crows and kites. When the crows and kites have eaten them, they cannot come to life any more." So the servants killed the children, and chopped them up very fine and fed the crows and kites with their flesh; and now the Mahárání was very happy.

Some months later, as she was walking in her garden, she saw two beautiful flower-buds on a large bél-tree that grew in it. She showed them to the gardener, and asked if he had seen them before. "Never," said the man. "On this tree there have never been either flowers or fruit till now." "Gather the flowers for me," said the Rání, "I do so wish to have them." The gardener said to her, "Wait till the buds are fully blown and then I will gather them for you." At the end of three or four days the Rání Sunkásí asked if the buds had grown into large flowers, and the gardener said, "Yes, to-day I will gather them for you." He got a long, long bamboo cane, and tied a piece of wood cross-ways on one of its ends so as to make a sort of hook wherewith to catch hold of and break off the flowers. He tried and tried to get them, but all in vain. Then he made all the servants try. It was of no use, no one could make the hook touch the flowers. They always bent themselves just out of its reach. Then Sunkásí Rání tried, but with no better success. She told the Mahárájá, who said, "I will try to-morrow to gather these wonderful flowers."

That night as the Rání lay in her bed she suddenly thought, "Those children are in the flowers," and she determined to be with her husband when he gathered them, to get them into her own hands some way or other.

The next morning Anárbásá Mahárájá and his wife went to the bél-tree, and as soon as he held out his hand towards the flowers, they dropped into it. "What lovely flowers! What beautiful flowers! Do give them to me," said Sunkásí Rání. "No," said the Mahárájá, "I will keep them myself." Then he carried them to his room and laid them on the table while he shut the door and the venetians. Then he came and sat down before them: he took them in his hand, and looked at them and laid them again on the table; then he took them and smelt them, and they smelt, oh! so sweet. This he did many times. At last he held them to his ears, for the adventure of the bél-fruit had made him wise (_hushyár_), and he heard little tiny voices, saying, "Papa" (Dunkní's own word), "we want to stay with you; we should like to be with you." The Mahárájá looked very carefully at the flowers, and at last, in one of them he saw a little splinter of wood like a thorn sticking: he pulled this out, and his own little son stood before him. Then he looked at the other flower, and in that, too, was a little splinter of wood sticking. When he pulled it out his little girl stood there.

The Mahárájá was vexed with his children, and asked them why they were so naughty, and why they liked to live in fruits and flowers instead of staying in the palace or going to school. The children answered, "We go to school sometimes, and then we come back and live in our flowers, and then we return to school, and then we come back to our flower-homes again." "This is a lie you are telling me," said their father. "You know quite well you have not been at school at all." The Mahárání came in to hear what all this talking meant, and when she saw the children she said to Anárbásá Mahárájá, "These are not your children, yours are at school." "They are my children," he answered, "and they have never been at school at all, and they are very naughty." He then sent them away to play, and the Rání returned to her room. But he sat alone in his room, for he was angry and cross. As he sat there one of his chaprásís came to him and said, "Maháráj, you do not know how ill the Mahárání treats your children, or you would not be angry with them. She has killed them several times, and sent them away into the jungle; and after they came out of the bél-fruit she killed them and chopped them into small pieces, and fed the kites and crows with their flesh." When the Mahárájá heard all this, he said to the chaprásí, "You must have a beautiful little house built for me; you must take care that it is chiefly made of wood; the flooring must be very thin and of wood; and the hollow place under the flooring must be filled with dry wood. Then you must put plenty of flowers inside the house, and plenty outside so as to make it very pretty."

As soon as the house was ready the Mahárájá went to his wife and asked her if she would go out with him to eat the air. "I should like to show you a new house I have had built for you," he said. So she went with him and thought her new house lovely. While she was inside looking at the pretty flowers in the rooms, the Mahárájá slipped out, and bolted the door so that she could not escape, and he told his servants to set fire to the wood under the flooring. When the flames began to rise the Rání got very frightened. She rushed to the window and called to the Mahárájá and his servants, who were standing there looking on, to save her. No one said anything to her. "Save me," she cried, "or I shall be burnt to death." "If you are burnt, what does it matter?" said the Mahárájá. "You ill-treated my children; you killed them; so, now burn."

As soon as she was burnt to death the Mahárájá had all her bones collected and put into four dishes, and he gave them to one of his servants to take to Sunkásí Rání's mother. When her mother uncovered dish after dish and found nothing but bones, she asked the servant, "Of what use are bones?" "These are your daughter's bones," said he: "therefore Anárbásá Mahárájá sent them to you. Sunkásí Rání ill-treated and killed his children, and so he burnt her."

The rest of the story she pronounced exact (_thík_).

2. The bél-tree is the _Ægle Marmelos_ of botanists.

3. With the different deaths and transformations of the children compare in this book: Phúlmati Rání, pp. 3 and 4: the Kite's Children, p. 22: the Bél-Princess, pp. 144, 145, 148: and in _Old Deccan Days_ Surya Bai, pp. 85, 86. In "Die goldenen Kinder" (Schott's _Wallachische Maerchen_) the golden children are killed and buried (p. 122). From their hearts spring two apple-trees having golden leaves and apples. The trees are destroyed; but a sheep has eaten an apple and then has two golden lambs. The step-mother kills them at once and sends the maid to wash the entrails in the stream, intending to cook them for her husband to eat (compare the curry in the "Pomegranate King," p. 8; the broth (_Suhr_) in Grimm's "von dem Machandelboom," _Kinder und Hausmaerchen_, vol. I. p. 271; and the stew in the Devonshire story, "The Rose-Tree," told in Henderson's _Folk-lore of the Northern Counties of England_, p. 314). A piece of the entrail escapes, and as it floats away it swells and swells. On reaching the opposite bank it bursts, and out of it step the golden children. In a Hungarian story the children, one with a planet and one with a sun on his forehead, and each with a ring on his arm, are killed by a wicked woman who wants her daughter to take their mother's place as queen. They turn first into two golden pear-trees. These are destroyed by fire, but one glowing coal from the fire is eaten by an old she-goat. The old goat then has two little golden-fleeced kids. They are killed, an old crow swallows a piece of the entrails as they are being washed in the brook; she flies to the seventy-seventh island in the ocean, builds a nest and lays two golden eggs. Out of the eggs come the golden-haired children with their planet, sun and golden rings. The old crow sends them for seven years to school to a hermit (here is the holy man again, see p. 283 of these notes), and then flies home with them to their father. The pillar of salt, into which their mother was changed, answers all the king's questions. It is not said that she regained her human form ("Die verwandelten Kinder," Stier's _Ungarische Volksmaerchen_, p. 58). In a Siebenburg story, "Die beiden goldenen Kinder," the children are killed by an envious woman who becomes queen in their mother's place. From their remains spring two golden pine-trees which are burnt; a sheep eats two of the sparks and has two golden lambs that are killed; from two pieces of the entrails step forth the golden-haired children (Haltrich's _Siebenbuergische Maerchen_, pp. 2, 3). In this tale the children are restored to their father, the king, by the intervention of God himself (p. 4), who in these _Siebenbuergische Maerchen_ plays a part just as often as "Khudá" does in the Indian tales, taking for the purpose the form of a "good old man," and often wearing a grey mantle that reminds one of Odin. In the Netherlandish story of "The knight with the swan" (Thorpe's _Northern Mythology_, vol. III. p. 302), King Oriant's mother persuades the king his wife gave him seven puppies instead of seven children (each born with a silver chain round its neck in "proof of their mother's nobility"). She sends the children to the forest to be destroyed. They are left there alive, and are fostered by an old man. When the queen-mother learns this, she sends servants to kill them. These are content with depriving six of the children of their silver chains, on which the children instantly become swans. (The seventh child is absent and so is saved.) A goldsmith makes two beakers out of one of the chains, and keeps the others intact. When the chains are hung again round the five swans' necks, and the beaker shown to the sixth, they regain their human forms. See also paragraph 8 of the notes to Phúlmati Rání.

4. With the children in the fruit and flowers compare in these stories, Phúlmati Rání, p. 3: Loving Lailí, p. 81: the Bél-Princess, p. 146, and paragraph 5 of the notes to that story, p. 283: and in _Old Deccan Days_, "Surya Bai," p. 86: and "Anár Rání and her two maids," p. 95. With these may be compared the Polish Madey (Naake's _Slavonic Fairy Tales_, p. 220). Madey is a robber who commits fearful crimes; he repents, and sticks his "murderous club" upright in the ground, swearing to kneel before it till the boy who has caused his repentance returns as a bishop. Years go by: the boy, now a bishop, passes through Madey's forest. The club has become an apple-tree full of apples and he discovers Madey through their sweet odour. At Madey's request the bishop confesses him; and as Madey confesses his crimes, the apples on the tree, one after another, become white doves and fly to heaven. They were the souls of those he had murdered.