Chapter 15

Now, after he had reigned a while in Hodinagari, Rasâlu gave up his kingdom, and started off to play _chaupur_ with King Sarkap. And as he journeyed there came a fierce storm of thunder and lightning, so that he sought shelter, and found none save an old graveyard, where a headless corpse lay upon the ground. So lonesome was it that even the corpse seemed company, and Rasâlu, sitting down beside it, said--

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

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

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

Then the headless corpse replied--

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

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

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

HOW RAJA RASÂLU SWUNG THE SEVENTY FAIR MAIDENS, DAUGHTERS OF THE KING

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

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

The Prince smiled, saying, 'What help could _you_ give _me_?' Nevertheless, he kept the hair and went on his way.

Now, when he reached the city of King Sarkap, seventy maidens, daughters of the King, came out to meet him--seventy fair maidens, merry and careless, full of smiles and laughter; but one, the youngest of them all, when she saw the gallant young Prince riding on Bhaunr Irâqi, going gaily to his doom, was filled with pity, and called to him, saying--

'Fair Prince, on the charger so gray, Turn thee back! turn thee back! Or lower thy lance for the fray; Thy head will be forfeit to-day! Dost love life? then, stranger, I pray, Turn thee back! turn thee back!'

But he, smiling at the maiden, answered lightly--

'Fair maiden, I come from afar, Sworn conqueror in love and in war! King Sarkap my coming will rue, His head in four pieces I'll hew; Then forth as a bridegroom I'll ride, With you, little maid, as my bride!'

Now when Rasâlu replied so gallantly, the maiden looked in his face, and seeing how fair he was, and how brave and strong, she straightway fell in love with him, and would gladly have followed him through the world.

But the other sixty-nine maidens, being jealous, laughed scornfully at her, saying, 'Not so fast, O gallant warrior! If you would marry our sister you must first do our bidding, for you will be our younger brother.'

'Fair sisters!' quoth Rasâlu gaily, 'give me my task and I will perform it.'

So the sixty-nine maidens mixed a hundredweight of millet seed with a hundredweight of sand, and giving it to Rasâlu, bade him separate the seed from the sand.

Then he bethought him of the cricket, and drawing the feeler from his pocket, thrust it into the fire. And immediately there was a whirring noise in the air, and a great flight of crickets alighted beside him, and among them the cricket whose life he had saved.

Then Rasâlu said, 'Separate the millet seed from the sand.'

'Is that all?' quoth the cricket; 'had I known how small a job you wanted me to do, I would not have assembled so many of my brethren.'

With that the flight of crickets set to work, and in one night they separated the seed from the sand.

Now when the sixty-nine fair maidens, daughters of the King, saw that Rasâlu had performed his task, they set him another, bidding him swing them all, one by one, in their swings, until they were tired.

Whereupon he laughed, saying, 'There are seventy of you, counting my little bride yonder, and I am not going to spend my life in swinging girls; yet, by the time I have given each of you a swing, the first will be wanting another! No! if you want to swing, get in, all seventy of you, into one swing, and then I will see what I can compass.'

So the seventy maidens, merry and careless, full of smiles and laughter, climbed into the one swing, and Raja Rasâlu, standing in his shining armour, fastened the ropes to his mighty bow, and drew it up to its fullest bent. Then he let go, and like an arrow the swing shot into the air, with its burden of seventy fair maidens, merry and careless, full of smiles and laughter.

But as it swung back again, Rasâlu, standing there in his shining armour, drew his sharp sword and severed the ropes. Then the seventy fair maidens fell to the ground headlong; and some were bruised and some broken, but the only one who escaped unhurt was the maiden who loved Rasâlu, for she fell out last, on the top of the others, and so came to no harm.

After this, Rasâlu strode on fifteen paces, till he came to the seventy drums, that every one who came to play _chaupur_ with the King had to beat in turn; and he beat them so loudly that he broke them all. Then he came to the seventy gongs, all in a row, and he hammered them so hard that they cracked to pieces.

Seeing this, the youngest Princess, who was the only one who could run, fled to her father the King in a great fright, saying--

'A mighty Prince, Sarkap! making havoc, rides along, He swung us, seventy maidens fair, and threw us out headlong; He broke the drums you placed there and the gongs too in his pride, Sure, he will kill thee, father mine, and take me for his bride!'

But King Sarkap replied scornfully--

'Silly maiden, thy words make a lot Of a very small matter; For fear of my valour, I wot, His armour will clatter. As soon as I've eaten my bread I'll go forth and cut off his head!'

Notwithstanding these brave and boastful words, he was in reality very much afraid, having heard of Rasâlu's renown. And learning that he was stopping at the house of an old woman in the city, till the hour for playing _chaupur_ arrived, Sarkap sent slaves to him with trays of sweetmeats and fruit, as to an honoured guest. But the food was poisoned.

Now when the slaves brought the trays to Raja Rasâlu, he rose up haughtily, saying, 'Go, tell your master I have nought to do with him in friendship. I am his sworn enemy, and I eat not of his salt!'

So saying, he threw the sweetmeats to Raja Sarkap's dog, which had followed the slaves, and lo! the dog died.

Then Rasâlu was very wroth, and said bitterly, 'Go back to Sarkap, slaves! and tell him that Rasâlu deems it no act of bravery to kill even an enemy by treachery.'

HOW RAJA RASÂLU PLAYED CHAUPUR WITH KING SARKAP

Now, when evening came, Raja Rasâlu went forth to play _chaupur_ with King Sarkap, and as he passed some potters' kilns he saw a cat wandering about restlessly; so he asked what ailed her that she never stood still, and she replied, 'My kittens are in an unbaked pot in the kiln yonder. It has just been set alight, and my children will be baked alive; therefore I cannot rest!'

Her words moved the heart of Raja Rasâlu, and, going to the potter, he asked him to sell the kiln as it was; but the potter replied that he could not settle a fair price till the pots were burnt, as he could not tell how many would come out whole. Nevertheless, after some bargaining, he consented at last to sell the kiln, and Rasâlu, having searched through all the pots, restored the kittens to their mother, and she, in gratitude for his mercy, gave him one of them, saying, 'Put it in your pocket, for it will help you when you are in difficulties.'

So Raja Rasâlu put the kitten in his pocket, and went to play _chaupur_ with the King.

Now, before they sat down to play, Raja Sarkap fixed his stakes. On the first game, his kingdom; on the second, the wealth of the whole world; and on the third, his own head. So, likewise, Raja Rasâlu fixed his stakes. On the first game, his arms; on the second, his horse; and on the third, his own head.

Then they began to play, and it fell to Rasâlu's lot to make the first move. Now he, forgetful of the dead man's warning, played with the dice given him by Raja Sarkap; then, in addition, Sarkap let loose his famous rat, Dhol Raja, and it ran about the board, upsetting the _chaupur_ pieces on the sly, so that Rasâlu lost the first game, and gave up his shining armour.

So the second game began, and once more Dhol Raja, the rat, upset the pieces; and Rasâlu, losing the game, gave up his faithful steed. Then Bhaunr Irâqi, who stood by, found voice, and cried to his master--

'I am born of the sea and of gold; Dear Prince! trust me now as of old. I'll carry you far from these wiles-- My flight, all unspurr'd, will be swift as a bird, For thousands and thousands of miles! Or if needs you must stay; ere the next game you play, Place hand in your pocket, I pray!'

Hearing this, Raja Sarkap frowned, and bade his slaves remove Bhaunr Irâqi, since he gave his master advice in the game. Now when the slaves came to lead the faithful steed away, Rasâlu could not refrain from tears, thinking over the long years during which Bhaunr Irâqi had been his companion. But the horse cried out again--

'Weep not, dear Prince! I shall not eat my bread Of stranger hands, nor to strange stall be led. Take thy right hand, and place it as I said.'

These words roused some recollection in Rasâlu's mind, and when, just at this moment, the kitten in his pocket began to struggle, he remembered the warning which the corpse had given him about the dice made from dead men's bones. Then his heart rose up once more, and he called boldly to Raja Sarkap, 'Leave my horse and arms here for the present. Time enough to take them away when you have won my head!'

Now, Raja Sarkap, seeing Rasâlu's confident bearing, began to be afraid, and ordered all the women of his palace to come forth in their gayest attire and stand before Rasâlu, so as to distract his attention from the game. But he never even looked at them; and drawing the dice from his pocket, said to Sarkap, 'We have played with your dice all this time; now we will play with mine.'

Then the kitten went and sat at the window through which the rat Dhol Raja used to come, and the game began.

After a while, Sarkap, seeing Raja Rasâlu was winning, called to his rat, but when Dhol Raja saw the kitten he was afraid, and would not go farther. So Rasâlu won, and took back his arms. Next he played for his horse, and once more Raja Sarkap called for his rat; but Dhol Raja, seeing the kitten keeping watch, was afraid. So Rasâlu won the second stake, and took back Bhaunr Irâqi.

Then Sarkap brought all his skill to bear on the third and last game, saying--

'O moulded pieces, favour me to-day! For sooth this is a man with whom I play. No paltry risk--but life and death at stake; As Sarkap does, so do, for Sarkap's sake!'

But Rasâlu answered back--

'O moulded pieces, favour me to-day! For sooth it is a man with whom I play. No paltry risk--but life and death at stake; As Heaven does, so do, for Heaven's sake!'

So they began to play, whilst the women stood round in a circle, and the kitten watched Dhol Raja from the window. Then Sarkap lost, first his kingdom, then the wealth of the whole world, and lastly his head.

Just then, a servant came in to announce the birth of a daughter to Raja Sarkap, and he, overcome by misfortunes, said, 'Kill her at once! for she has been born in an evil moment, and has brought her father ill luck!'

But Rasâlu rose up in his shining armour, tenderhearted and strong, saying, 'Not so, O king! She has done no evil. Give me this child to wife; and if you will vow, by all you hold sacred, never again to play _chaupur_ for another's head, I will spare yours now!'

Then Sarkap vowed a solemn vow never to play for another's head; and after that he took a fresh mango branch, and the new-born babe, and placing them on a golden dish, gave them to the Prince.

Now, as Rasâlu left the palace, carrying with him the new-born babe and the mango branch, he met a band of prisoners, and they called out to him--

'A royal hawk art thou, O King! the rest But timid wild-fowl. Grant us our request-- Unloose these chains, and live for ever blest!'

And Raja Rasâlu hearkened to them, and bade King Sarkap set them at liberty.

Then he went to the Murti Hills, and placed the new-born babe, Kokilan, in an underground palace, and planted the mango branch at the door, saying, 'In twelve years the mango tree will blossom; then will I return and marry Kokilan.'

And after twelve years, the mango tree began to flower, and Raja Rasâlu married the Princess Kokilan, whom he won from Sarkap when he played _chaupur_ with the King.

THE KING WHO WAS FRIED

Once upon a time, a very long time ago indeed, there lived a King who had made a vow never to eat bread or break his fast until he had given away a hundredweight of gold in charity.

So, every day, before King Karan--for that was his name--had his breakfast, the palace servants would come out with baskets and baskets of gold pieces to scatter amongst the crowds of poor folk, who, you may be sure, never forgot to be there to receive the alms.

How they used to hustle and bustle and struggle and scramble! Then, when the last golden piece had been fought for, King Karan would sit down to his breakfast, and enjoy it as a man who has kept his word should do.

Now, when people saw the King lavishing his gold in this fashion, they naturally thought that sooner or later the royal treasuries must give out, the gold come to an end, and the King--who was evidently a man of his word--die of starvation. But, though months and years passed by, every day, just a quarter of an hour before breakfast-time, the servants came out of the palace with baskets and baskets of gold; and as the crowds dispersed they could see the King sitting down to his breakfast in the royal banqueting hall, as jolly, and fat, and hungry, as could be.

Now, of course, there was some secret in all this, and this secret I shall now tell you. King Karan had made a compact with a holy and very hungry old _faqîr_ who lived at the top of the hill; and the compact was this: on condition of King Karan allowing himself to be fried and eaten for breakfast every day, the _faqîr_ gave him a hundredweight of pure gold.

Of course, had the _faqîr_ been an ordinary sort of person, the compact would not have lasted long, for once King Karan had been fried and eaten, there would have been an end of the matter. But the _faqîr_ was a very remarkable _faqîr_ indeed, and when he had eaten the King, and picked the bones quite quite clean, he just put them together, said a charm or two, and, hey presto! there was King Karan as fat and jolly as ever, ready for the next morning's breakfast. In fact, the _faqîr_ made _no bones at all_ over the affair, which, it must be confessed, was very convenient both for the breakfast and the breakfast eater. Nevertheless, it was of course not pleasant to be popped alive every morning into a great frying-pan of boiling oil; and for my part I think King Karan earned his hundredweight of gold handsomely. But after a time he got accustomed to the process, and would go up quite cheerfully to the holy and hungry one's house, where the biggest frying-pan was spitting and sputtering over the sacred fire. Then he would just pass the time of day to the _faqîr_ to make sure he was punctual, and step gracefully into his hot oil bath. My goodness! how he sizzled and fizzled! When he was crisp and brown, the _faqîr_ ate him, picked the bones, set them together, sang a charm, and finished the business by bringing out his dirty, old ragged coat, which he shook and shook, while the bright golden pieces came tumbling out of the pockets on to the floor.

So that was the way King Karan got his gold, and if you think it very extraordinary, so do I!

Now, in the great Mansarobar Lake, where, as of course you know, all the wild swans live when they leave us, and feed upon seed pearls, there was a great famine. Pearls were so scarce that one pair of swans determined to go out into the world and seek for food. So they flew into King Bikramâjît's garden, at Ujjayin. Now, when the gardener saw the beautiful birds, he was delighted, and, hoping to induce them to stay, he threw them grain to eat. But they would not touch it, nor any other food he offered them; so he went to his master, and told him there were a pair of swans in the garden who refused to eat anything.

Then King Bikramâjît went out, and asked them in birds' language (for, as every one knows, Bikramâjît understood both beasts and birds) why it was that they ate nothing.

'We don't eat grain!' said they, 'nor fruit, nor anything but fresh unpierced pearls!'

Whereupon King Bikramâjît, being very kind-hearted, sent for a basket of pearls; and every day, when he came into the garden, he fed the swans with his own hand.

But one day, when he was feeding them as usual, one of the pearls happened to be pierced. The dainty swans found it out at once, and coming to the conclusion that King Bikramâjît's supply of pearls was running short, they made up their minds to go farther afield. So, despite his entreaties, they spread their broad white wings, and flew up into the blue sky, their outstretched necks pointing straight towards home on the great Mansarobar Lake. Yet they were not ungrateful, for as they flew they sang the praises of Bikramâjît.

Now, King Karan was watching his servants bring out the baskets of gold, when the wild swans came flying over his head; and when he heard them singing, 'Glory to Bikramâjît! Glory to Bikramâjît!' he said to himself, 'Who is this whom even the birds praise? I let myself be fried and eaten every day in order that I may be able to give away a hundredweight of gold in charity, yet no swan sings _my_ song!'

So, being jealous, he sent for a bird-catcher, who snared the poor swans with lime, and put them in a cage.

Then Karan hung the cage in the palace, and ordered his servants to bring every kind of birds' food; but the proud swans only curved their white necks in scorn, saying, 'Glory to Bikramâjît!--he gave us pearls to eat!'

Then King Karan, determined not to be outdone, sent for pearls; but still the scornful swans would not touch anything.

'Why will ye not eat?' quoth King Karan wrathfully; 'am I not as generous as Bikramâjît?'

Then the swan's wife answered, and said, 'Kings do not imprison the innocent. Kings do not war against women. If Bikramâjît were here, he would at any rate let me go!'

So Karan, not to be outdone in generosity, let the swan's wife go, and she spread her broad white wings and flew southwards to Bikramâjît, and told him how her husband lay a prisoner at the court of King Karan.

Of course Bikramâjît, who was, as every one knows, the most generous of kings, determined to* release the poor captive; and bidding the swan fly back and rejoin her mate, he put on the garb of a servant, and taking the name of Bikrû, journeyed northwards till he came to King Karan's kingdom. Then he took service with the King, and helped every day to carry out the baskets of golden pieces. He soon saw there was some secret in King Karan's endless wealth, and never rested until he had found it out. So, one day, hidden close by, he saw King Karan enter the _faqîr's_ house and pop into the boiling oil. He saw him frizzle and sizzle, he saw him come out crisp and brown, he saw the hungry and holy _faqîr_ pick the bones, and, finally, he saw King Karan, fat and jolly as ever, go down the mountain side with his hundredweight of gold!

Then Bikrû knew what to do! So the very next day he rose very early, and taking a carving-knife, he slashed himself all over. Next he took some pepper and salt, spices, pounded pomegranate seeds, and pea-flour; these he mixed together into a beautiful curry-stuff, and rubbed himself all over with it--right into the cuts in spite of the smarting. When he thought he was quite ready for cooking, he just went up the hill to the _faqîr_'s house, and popped into the frying-pan. The _faqîr_ was still asleep, but he soon awoke with the sizzling and the fizzling, and said to himself, 'Dear me! how uncommonly nice the King smells this morning!'

Indeed, so appetising was the smell, that he could hardly wait until the King was crisp and brown, but then----oh, my goodness! how he gobbled him up!

You see, he had been eating plain fried so long that a devilled king was quite a change. He picked the bones ever so clean, and it is my belief would have eaten them too, if he had not been afraid of killing the goose that laid the golden eggs.

Then, when it was all over, he put the King together again, and said, with tears in his eyes, 'What a breakfast that was, to be sure! Tell me how you managed to taste so nice, and I'll give you anything you ask.'

Whereupon Bikrû told him the way it was done, and promised to devil himself every morning, if he might have the old coat in return. 'For,' said he, 'it is not pleasant to be fried! and I don't see why I should in addition have the trouble of carrying a hundredweight of gold to the palace every day. Now, if _I_ keep the coat, I can shake it down there.'

To this the _faqîr_ agreed, and off went Bikrû with the coat.

Meanwhile, King Karan came toiling up the hill, and was surprised, when he entered the _faqîr_'s house, to find the fire out, the frying-pan put away, and the _faqîr_ himself as holy as ever, but not in the least hungry.

'Why, what is the matter?' faltered the King.

'Who are you?' asked the _faqîr_, who, to begin with, was somewhat short-sighted, and in addition felt drowsy after his heavy meal.

'Who! Why, I'm King Karan, come to be fried! Don't you want your breakfast?'

'I've had my breakfast!' sighed the _faqîr_ regretfully. 'You tasted very nice when you were devilled, I can assure you!'

'I never was devilled in my life!' shouted the King; 'you must have eaten somebody else!'

'That's just what I was saying to myself!' returned the _faqîr_ sleepily; 'I thought--it couldn't--be only--the spices--that-- '--Snore, snore, snore!

'Look here!' cried King Karan, in a rage, shaking the _faqîr_,'you must eat me too!'