Chapter 12

Now, one day, the Pea-hen had juicy plums for dinner, and the Jackal, for his part, had as juicy a young kid; so they enjoyed themselves immensely. But when the feast was over, the Pea-hen rose gravely, and, after scratching up the ground, carefully sowed all the plum-stones in a row.

'It is my custom to do so when I eat plums,' she said, with quite an aggravating air of complacent virtue; 'my mother, good creature, brought me up in excellent habits, and with her dying breath bade me never be wasteful. Now these stones will grow into trees, the fruit of which, even if I do not live to see the day, will afford a meal to many a hungry peacock.'

These words made the Jackal feel rather mean, so he answered loftily, 'Exactly so! I always plant my bones for the same reason.' And he carefully dug up a piece of ground, and sowed the bones of the kid at intervals.

After this, the pair used to come every day and look at their gardens; by and by the plum-stones shot into tender green stems, but the bones made never a sign.

'Bones do take a long time germinating,' remarked the Jackal, pretending to be quite at his ease; 'I have known them remain unchanged in the ground for months.'

'My dear sir,' answered the Pea-hen, with ill-concealed irony, '_I_ have known them remain so for _years_!'

So time passed on, and every day, when they visited the garden, the self-complacent Pea-hen became more and more sarcastic, the Jackal more and more savage.

At last the plum-trees blossomed and bore fruit, and the Pea-hen sat down to a perfect feast of ripe juicy plums.

'He! he!' sniggered she to the Jackal, who, having been unsuccessful in hunting that day, stood by dinnerless, hungry, and in consequence very cross; 'what a time those old bones of yours do take in coming up! But when they do, my! what a crop you'll have!'

The Jackal was bursting with rage, but she wouldn't take warning, and went on: 'Poor dear! you do look hungry! There seems some chance of your starving before harvest. What a pity it is you can't eat plums in the meantime!'

'If I can't eat plums, I can eat the plum-eater!' quoth the Jackal; and with that he pounced on the Pea-hen, and gobbled her up.

_Moral_--It is never safe to be wiser than one's friends.

THE GRAIN OF CORN

Once upon a time a farmer's wife was winnowing corn, when a crow, flying past, swooped off with a grain from the winnowing basket and perched on a tree close by to eat it. The farmer's wife, greatly enraged, flung a clod at the bird with so good an aim that the crow fell to the ground, dropping the grain of corn, which rolled into a crack in the tree. The farmer's wife, seeing the crow fall, ran up to it, and seizing it by the tail, cried, 'Give me back my grain of corn, or I will kill you!'

The wretched bird, in fear of death, promised to do so, but, lo and behold! when he came to search for the grain, it had rolled so far into the crack that neither by beak nor claw could he reach it.

So he flew off to a woodman, and said--

'Man! man! cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the woodman refused to cut the tree; so the crow flew on to the King's palace, and said--

'King! king! kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn. To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the King refused to kill the man; so the crow flew on to the Queen, and said--

'Queen! Queen! coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the Queen refused to coax the King; so the crow flew on till he met a snake, and said--

'Snake! snake! bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the snake refused to bite the Queen; so the crow flew on till he met a stick, and said--

'Stick! stick! beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the stick refused to beat the snake; so the crow flew on till he saw a fire, and said--

'Fire! fire! burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the fire refused to burn the stick; so the crow flew on till he met some water, and said--

'Water! water! quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the water refused to quench the fire; so the crow flew on till he met an ox, and said--

'Ox! ox! drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the ox refused to drink the water; so the crow flew on till he met a rope, and said--

'Rope! rope! bind ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the rope wouldn't bind the ox; so the crow flew on till he met a mouse, and said--

'Mouse! mouse! gnaw rope; Rope won't bind ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the mouse wouldn't gnaw the rope; so the crow flew on until he met a cat, and said--

'Cat! cat! catch mouse; Mouse won't gnaw rope; Rope won't bind ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; And I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

The moment the cat heard the name of mouse, she was after it; for the world will come to an end before a cat will leave a mouse alone.

'So the cat began to catch the mouse, The mouse began to gnaw the rope, The rope began to bind the ox, The ox began to drink the water, The water began to quench the fire, The fire began to burn the stick, The stick began to beat the snake, The snake began to bite the Queen, The Queen began to coax the King, The King began to kill the man, The man began to cut the tree; So the crow got the grain of corn, And saved his life from the farmer's wife!'

THE FARMER AND THE MONEY-LENDER

There was once a farmer who suffered much at the hands of a money-lender. Good harvests, or bad, the farmer was always poor, the moneylender rich. At last, when he hadn't a farthing left, the farmer went to the moneylender's house, and said, 'You can't squeeze water from a stone, and as you have nothing to get by me now, you might tell me the secret of becoming rich.'

'My friend,' returned the money-lender piously, 'riches come from Ram--ask _him_.'

'Thank you, I will!' replied the simple farmer; so he prepared three girdle-cakes to last him on the journey, and set out to find Ram.

First he met a Brâhman, and to him he gave a cake, asking him to point out the road to Ram; but the Brâhman only took the cake and went on his way without a word. Next the farmer met a Jôgi or devotee, and to him he gave a cake, without receiving any help in return. At last, he came upon a poor man sitting under a tree, and finding out he was hungry, the kindly farmer gave him his last cake, and sitting down to rest beside him, entered into conversation.

'And where are you going?' asked the poor man at length.

'Oh, I have a long journey before me, for I am going to find Ram!' replied the farmer. 'I don't suppose you could tell me which way to go?'

'Perhaps I can,' said the poor man, smiling, 'for _I_ am Ram! What do you want of me?'

Then the farmer told the whole story, and Ram, taking pity on him, gave him a conch shell, and showed him how to blow it in a particular way, saying, 'Remember! whatever you wish for, you have only to blow the conch that way, and your wish will be fulfilled. Only have a care of that money-lender, for even magic is not proof against their wiles!'

The farmer went back to his village rejoicing. In fact the money-lender noticed his high spirits at once, and said to himself, 'Some good fortune must have befallen the stupid fellow, to make him hold his head so jauntily.' Therefore he went over to the simple farmer's house, and congratulated him on his good fortune, in such cunning words, pretending to have heard all about it, that before long the farmer found himself telling the whole story--all except the secret of blowing the conch, for, with all his simplicity, the farmer was not quite such a fool as to tell that.

Nevertheless, the money-lender determined to have the conch by hook or by crook, and as he was villain enough not to stick at trifles, he waited for a favourable opportunity and stole it.

But, after nearly bursting himself with blowing the thing in every conceivable way, he was obliged to give up the secret as a bad job. However, being determined to succeed, he went back to the farmer, and said, 'Now, my friend! I've got your conch, but I can't use it; you haven't got it, so it's clear you can't use it either. The matter is at a standstill unless we make a bargain. Now, I promise to give you back your conch, and never to interfere with your using it, on one condition, which is this,--whatever you get from it, I am to get double.'

'Never!' cried the farmer; 'that would be the old business all over again!'

'Not at all!' replied the wily money-lender; 'you will have your share! Now, don't be a dog in the manger, for if _you_ get all you want, what can it matter to you if _I_ am rich or poor?'

At last, though it went sorely against the grain to be of any benefit to a money-lender, the farmer was forced to yield, and from that time, no matter what he gained by the power of the conch, the money-lender gained double. And the knowledge that this was so preyed upon the farmer's mind day and night, until he had no satisfaction out of anything he did get.

At last there came a very dry season,--so dry that the farmer's crops withered for want of rain. Then he blew his conch, and wished for a well to water them, and, lo! there was the well. _But the money-lender had two!_--two beautiful new wells! This was too much for any farmer to stand; and our friend brooded over it, and brooded over it, till at last a bright idea came into his head. He seized the conch, blew it loudly, and cried out, 'O Ram, I wish to be blind of one eye!' And so he was, in a twinkling, but the money-lender, of course, was blind of both eyes, and in trying to steer his way between the two new wells, he fell into one and was drowned.

Now this true story shows that a farmer once got the better of a money-lender; but only by losing one of his eyes!

THE LORD OF DEATH

Once upon a time there was a road, and every one who travelled along it died. Some folk said they were killed by a snake, others said by a scorpion, but certain it is they all died.

Now a very old man was travelling along the road, and being tired, sat down on a stone to rest; when suddenly, close beside him, he saw a scorpion as big as a cock, which, while he looked at it, changed into a horrible snake. He was wonderstruck, and as the creature glided away, he determined to follow it at a little distance, and so find out what it really was.

So the snake sped on day and night, and behind it followed the old man like a shadow. Once it went into an inn, and killed several travellers; another time it slid into the King's house and killed him. Then it crept up the waterspout to the Queen's palace, and killed the King's youngest daughter. So it passed on, and wherever it went the sound of weeping and wailing arose, and the old man followed it, silent as a shadow.

Suddenly the road became a broad, deep, swift river, on the banks of which sat some poor travellers who longed to cross over, but had no money to pay the ferry. Then the snake changed into a handsome buffalo, with a brass necklace and bells round its neck, and stood by the brink of the stream. When the poor travellers saw this, they said, 'This beast is going to swim to its home across the river; let us get on its back, and hold on to its tail, so that we too shall get over the stream.'

Then they climbed on its back and held by its tail, and the buffalo swam away with them bravely; but when it reached the middle, it began to kick, until they tumbled off, or let go, and were all drowned.

When the old man, who had crossed the river in a boat, reached the other side, the buffalo had disappeared, and in its stead stood a beautiful ox. Seeing this handsome creature wandering about, a peasant, struck with covetousness, lured it to his home. It was very gentle, suffering itself to be tied up with the other cattle; but in the dead of night it changed into a snake, bit all the flocks and herds, and then, creeping into the house, killed all the sleeping folk, and crept away. But behind it the old man still followed, as silent as a shadow.

Presently they came to another river, where the snake changed itself into the likeness of a beautiful young girl, fair to see, and covered with costly jewels. After a while, two brothers, soldiers, came by, and as they approached the girl, she began to weep bitterly.

'What is the matter?' asked the brothers; 'and why do you, so young and beautiful, sit by the river alone?'

Then the snake-girl answered, 'My husband was even now taking me home; and going down to the stream to look for the ferry-boat, fell to washing his face, when he slipped in, and was drowned. So I have neither husband nor relations!'

'Do not fear!' cried the elder of the two brothers, who had become enamoured of her beauty; 'come with me, and I will marry you.'

'On one condition,' answered the girl: 'you must never ask me to do any household work; and no matter for what I ask, you must give it me.'

'I will obey you like a slave!' promised the young man.

'Then go at once to the well, and fetch me a cup of water. Your brother can stay with me,' quoth the girl.

But when the elder brother had gone, the snake-girl turned to the younger, saying, 'Fly with me, for I love you! My promise to your brother was a trick to get him away!'

'Not so!' returned the young man; 'you are his promised wife, and I look on you as my sister.'

On this the girl became angry, weeping and wailing, until the elder brother returned, when she called out, 'O husband, what a villain is here! Your brother asked me to fly with him, and leave you!'

Then bitter wrath at this treachery arose in the elder brother's heart, so that he drew his sword and challenged the younger to battle. Then they fought all day long, until by evening they both lay dead upon the field, and then the girl took the form of a snake once more, and behind it followed the old man silent as a shadow. But at last it changed into the likeness of an old white-bearded man, and when he who had followed so long saw one like himself, he took courage, and laying hold of the white beard, asked, 'Who and what are you?'

Then the old man smiled and answered, 'Some call me the Lord of Death, because I go about bringing death to the world.'

'Give me death!' pleaded the other, 'for I have followed you far, silent as a shadow, and I am aweary.'

But the Lord of Death shook his head, saying, 'Not so! I only give to those whose years are full, and you have sixty years of life to come!'

Then the old white-bearded man vanished, but whether he really was the Lord of Death, or a devil, who can tell?

THE WRESTLERS

A STORY OF HEROES

There was, once upon a time, long ago, a wrestler living in a far country, who, hearing there was a mighty man in India, determined to have a fall with him; so, tying up ten thousand pounds weight of flour in his blanket, he put the bundle on his head and set off jauntily. Towards evening he came to a little pond in the middle of the desert, and sat down to eat his dinner. First, he stooped down and took a good long drink of the water; then, emptying his flour into the remainder of the pond, stirred it into good thick brose, off which he made a hearty meal, and lying down under a tree, soon fell fast asleep.

Now, for many years an elephant had drunk daily at the pond, and, coming as usual that evening for its draught, was surprised to find nothing but a little mud and flour at the bottom.

'What shall I do?' it said to itself, 'for there is no more water to be found for twenty miles!'

Going away disconsolate, it espied the wrestler sleeping placidly under the tree, and at once made sure he was the author of the mischief; so, galloping up to the sleeping man, it stamped on his head in a furious rage, determined to crush him.

But, to his astonishment, the wrestler only stirred a little, and said sleepily, 'What is the matter? what is the matter? If you want to shampoo my head, why the plague don't you do it properly? What's worth doing at all is worth doing well; so put a little of your weight into it, my friend!'

The elephant stared, and left off stamping; but, nothing daunted, seized the wrestler round the waist with its trunk, intending to heave him up and dash him to pieces on the ground. 'Ho! ho! my little friend!--that is your plan, is it?' quoth the wrestler, with a yawn; and catching hold of the elephant's tail, and swinging the monster over his shoulder, he continued his journey jauntily.

By and by he reached his destination, and, standing outside the Indian wrestler's house, cried out, 'Ho! my friend! Come out and try a fall!'

'My husband's not at home to-day,' answered the wrestler's wife from inside; 'he has gone into the wood to cut pea-sticks.'

'Well, well! when he returns give him this, with my compliments, and tell him the owner has come from far to challenge him.'

So saying, he chucked the elephant clean over the courtyard wall.

'Oh, mamma! mamma!' cried a treble voice from within, 'I declare that nasty man has thrown a mouse over the wall into my lap! What shall I do to him?'

'Never mind, little daughter!' answered the wrestler's wife; 'papa will teach him better manners. Take the grass broom and sweep the mouse away.'

Then there was a sound of sweeping, and immediately the dead elephant came flying over the wall.

'Ahem!' thought the wrestler outside, 'if the little daughter can do this, the father will be a worthy foe!'

So he set off to the wood to meet the Indian wrestler, whom he soon saw coming along the road, dragging a hundred and sixty carts laden with brushwood.

'Now we shall see!' quoth the stranger, with a wink; and stealing behind the carts, he laid hold of the last, and began to pull.

'That's a deep rut!' thought the Indian wrestler, and pulled a little harder. So it went on for an hour, but not an inch one way or the other did the carts budge.

'I believe there is some one hanging on behind!' quoth the Indian wrestler at last, and walked back to see who it was. Whereupon the stranger, coming to meet him, said, 'We seem pretty well matched; let us have a fall together.'

'With all my heart!' answered the other, 'but not here alone in the wilds; it is no fun fighting without applause.'

'But I haven't time to wait!' said the stranger; 'I have to be off at once, so it must be here or nowhere.'

Just then an old woman came hurrying by with big strides.

'Here's an audience!' cried the wrestler, and called aloud, 'Mother! mother! stop and see fair play!'

'I can't, my sons, I can't!' she replied, 'for my daughter is going to steal my camels, and I am off to stop her; but if you like, you can jump on to the palm of my hand, and wrestle there as I go along.'

So the wrestlers jumped on to the old woman's palm, and wrestled away as she strode over hill and dale.

Now when the old woman's daughter saw her mother, with the wrestlers wrestling on her hand, she said to herself, 'Here she comes, with the soldiers she spoke about! It is time for me to be off!'

So she picked up the hundred and sixty camels, tied them in her blanket, and swinging it over her shoulder, set off at a run.

But one of the camels put its head out of the blanket and began groaning and hubble-bubble-ubbling, after the manner of camels; so, to quiet it, the girl tore down a tree or two, and stuffed them into the bundle also. On this, the farmer to whom the trees belonged came running up, and calling, 'Stop thief! stop thief!'

'Thief, indeed!' quoth the girl angrily; and with that she bundled farmer, fields, crops, oxen, house, and all into the blanket.

Soon she came to a town, and being hungry, asked a pastry-cook to give her some sweets; but he refused, so she caught up the town bodily; and so on with everything she met, until her blanket was quite full.

At last she came to a big water-melon, and being thirsty, she sat down to eat it; and afterwards, feeling sleepy, she determined to rest a while. But the camels in her bundle made such a hubble-bubble-ubbling that they disturbed her, so she just packed everything into the lower half of the water-melon rind, and popping on the upper half as a lid, she rolled herself in the blanket and used the melon as a pillow.

Now, while she slept, a big flood arose, and carried off the water-melon, which, after floating down stream ever so far, stuck on a mud-bank. The top fell off, and out hopped the camels, the trees, the farmer, the oxen, the house, the town, and all the other things, until there was quite a new world on the mud-bank in the middle of the river.

THE LEGEND OF GWÂSHBRÂRI, THE GLACIER-HEARTED QUEEN

Once upon a time, ever so long ago, when this old world was young, and everything was very different from what it is nowadays, the mighty Westarwân was King of all the mountains. High above all other hills he reared his lofty head, so lofty, that when the summer clouds closed in upon his broad shoulders he was alone under the blue sky. And thus, being so far above the world, and so lonely in his dignity, he became proud, and even when the mists cleared away, leaving the fair new world stretched smiling at his feet, he never turned his eyes upon it, but gazed day and night upon the sun and stars.

Now Harâmukh, and Nangâ Parbat, and all the other hills that stood in a vast circle round great Westarwân, as courtiers waiting on their king, grew vexed because he treated them as nought; and when the summer cloud that soared above their heads hung on his shoulders like a royal robe, they would say bitter, wrathful words of spite and envy.

Only the beautiful Gwâshbrâri, cold and glistening amid her glaciers, would keep silence. Self-satisfied, serene, her beauty was enough for her; others might rise farther through the mists, but there was none so fair as she in all the land.

Yet once, when the cloud-veil wrapped Westarwân from sight, and the wrath rose loud and fierce, she flashed a contemptuous smile upon the rest, bidding them hold their peace.