Part 2

But the task had been too great for the Rajpoot. “Life without my boy is something I cannot bear to think of,” said he; “my service to the King is now ended.” Thereupon he plunged his sword into his own breast, and fell dead.

The sight of her husband and son, both lying dead at her feet, was too much for the grief-stricken mother, so she seized the blood-stained weapon, and with it slew herself.

Now all this was seen and heard by King Sudraka, who was just entering the gate of the temple, but so quickly did it happen, that he was unable to stop it. He hastened to where the bodies lay, and exclaimed: “Woe is me!”

Kings may come, and kings may go; What was I to bring these low? Souls so noble, slain for me, Were not, and will never be!

Sorrowful indeed was he as he gazed upon the remains of his three faithful subjects. “Having lost these,” he said, “what do I care for myself or my kingdom.” Then he drew his scimitar, intending to take his own life.

But at that moment there appeared to him the Goddess, who is mistress of all men’s fortunes. She stayed his uplifted hand, and said:

“Son, forbear, do not this rash deed; think of your kingdom.”

The Rajah prostrated himself before her, and cried: “O Goddess! I am finished with life and wealth and country! Have pity on me, and let my death restore these faithful ones to life; I must follow in their path.”

“Your affection finds favor in my sight, and is pleasing to me, Son,” said the Goddess. “As a reward the Rajpoot, his wife and son shall be restored to life, and many years shall they live in your service.”

With this assurance the King returned to his palace, and very soon he saw Vira-vara return and take up his station at the palace gate.

The Rajah sent for him and asked if he had discovered the cause of the weeping.

Now:

He is brave whose tongue is silent on the trophies of his sword; He is great whose quiet bearing marks his greatness well assured.

So the Rajpoot merely said: “It was a woman weeping, your Highness, and she disappeared on my approach.”

The next day the King summoned his ministers and told them all that had happened, and he made the faithful guard his Grand Vizir.

THE TALE OF TWO MERCHANTS OF EGYPT AND BAGDAD

Once upon a time there were two wealthy merchants, one of whom lived in Egypt and the other in Bagdad. Although they had never yet seen one another they had transacted much business together by means of messengers, who passed frequently between them. Both were men of honor and good repute, and each came to think of the other as a real friend. If anything unusual should happen in the land of Egypt, the merchant of that country would send word of it to the other in Bagdad, who, in like manner, would in turn send news of events in his own land. So, without either of them having seen the other, much kindness was shown on both sides.

One night, as the merchant of Bagdad lay upon his bed, he said to himself: “My correspondent in Egypt has shown much friendship toward me, and as I have never seen him I will pay him a visit.” So he hired a ship and went to Egypt, where his friend met him, and received him with great pleasure.

At the house of the Egyptian the merchant of Bagdad met a girl of wondrous beauty, and so smitten was he with her charms that he fell sick and pined away.

“My friend,” said the other, “What is the matter with you that you neither eat nor drink?”

“There is a woman of your household upon whom my heart has fixed itself,” returned his comrade, “and unless I may marry her, I shall die.” Thereupon the Egyptian summoned all the household before him, save only the girl in question, but the man from Bagdad said: “I care little for any of these; she whom I love is not among them.” Then this girl was brought before him, and he said that to her alone must he owe his life.

“My friend,” said the other, “I brought up this girl with the intention of making her my wife, and through her I shall obtain much wealth. But, so great is my friendship for you that I give her to you with all the riches which would have fallen to my share.”

So the sick merchant, overjoyed at his good fortune, received both the lady and her wealth, and returned with her to Bagdad.

After a while ill-fortune came to the merchant of Egypt, and he was without home or money. Then said he: “I will go to my friend of Bagdad, from whom I am sure to receive aid.”

So he went to Bagdad, and as he reached that city during the night, he did not like to awaken his friend, thinking that, poorly dressed, desolate and destitute as he was, he might not know him, so he decided to wait until the next day. Happening to look toward a burial-ground, he saw that the doors of the mosque there were open, so here he determined to remain for the night.

He had not been in the mosque long before two men entered. They were quarrelling, and soon began to fight, and in the end one killed the other, and fled.

The alarm was spread, and went through the whole city. “Where is the murderer?” was the general cry.

The thought came to the Egyptian that to die would bring an end to his troubles, and so he said to the searchers: “I am he.” Then they laid hands on him, and led him away to prison. In the morning he was taken before the judge, who sentenced him to death.

Now among those who went to witness the execution was the merchant whom he had befriended, and who knew him at once. He was horrified at the sad plight of his friend.

“What!” cried he, “Shall he be done to death while I live?” Then he raised his voice and shouted: “Hold! Do not destroy an innocent man. I am the murderer, and not he.”

He was at once arrested, and both were taken to the place of execution. The sentence was about to be carried out when there came another interruption, this time from the real murderer, who happened to be present.

Seeing these two men about to die for a crime which he had committed, he was filled with remorse. He said to himself: “I will not permit innocent blood to be shed; if I do, the vengeance of God will sooner or later overtake me, and it is better to suffer a short pain in this world than to be in everlasting torment in the next.”

So he cried out, “Slay not the guiltless, for neither of these men has done murder. I only am the criminal; let them go.”

The people were filled with amazement, and the three men were at once taken to the judge, who was much astonished at this unusual occurrence. The matter was explained to him, and then, addressing the Egyptian, he said:

“Friend, why did you confess yourself the murderer?”

“My lord,” answered he, “I will tell you the reason. In my own land I was, until recently, a man of wealth, and had all that riches could buy, but through no fault of mine I lost all this, and am now destitute. I was ashamed at my condition, and saw, in this confession, an end to my misfortunes. I am willing to die, and beseech you to order my death.”

The judge then turned to the merchant of Bagdad and said: “And you, my friend; why did you acknowledge yourself to be the murderer?”

The merchant replied: “My lord, this man is my benefactor. I have enjoyed his hospitality, and while at his home he bestowed upon me a wife, whom he had educated for his own, and who possessed great wealth. When, therefore, I saw my friend being led to his death, I proclaimed myself the murderer, hoping thus to take his place. For his love I would willingly perish.”

It was now the turn of the third man, who was the real criminal. The judge asked him what he had to say for himself, and he answered:

“When I confessed, I told the truth. The burden which would have been mine had I allowed these two innocent men to suffer death for a crime that was my own would have been too heavy for me to bear, and I preferred to pay the penalty.”

For some time the judge considered the stories of the three men, then he said to the last one to speak:

“As you have declared the truth and thereby saved the lives of two innocent men, I pardon you. Study to amend your future life, and go in peace.”

The decision of the judge was praised by all the people, who were quick to acknowledge the generosity of the merchant who would have given his life to save his friend, and the honorable manner in which the guilty person had rescued from death the two who were innocent.

PUNCHKIN

Once upon a time there was a Rajah who had seven daughters. They were all good, beautiful and clever girls, but especially so was the youngest, whose name was Balna. The Rajah’s wife died when they were very little children, so these seven Princesses grew up without having a loving mother to watch over and care for them.

As soon as they were old enough, the Rajah’s daughters took turns every day to cook their father’s dinner, while he was busily engaged with his ministers in directing the affairs of his country.

About this time the Prime Minister died, leaving a widow and one daughter, and every day, when the Princesses were getting the Rajah’s dinner ready, the widow and her daughter would come and beg for some fire from the hearth. Balna would say to her sisters: “Let us send that woman away; why does she want our fire, when she has her own house? If we continue to allow her to come here, we shall some day be sorry for it.”

But the other sisters rebuked her, and so the widow continued to take some fire from the hearth, but while no one was looking, she would throw some mud into the dishes which were being prepared for the Rajah’s dinner.

One of the reasons that the daughters always prepared the food for their father was that there should be no danger of his being poisoned by his enemies, so when he found the mud mixed with his dinner he thought it was because they were careless; he knew they would not do such a thing on purpose. He loved them all very much, and hadn’t the heart to reprove them, even though his meals were spoiled for several days.

This happened so often that it puzzled him, and so he made up his mind one day to hide, and watch his daughters cooking; so, going into the room next to the kitchen, he saw everything through a hole in the wall.

His daughters carefully washed the rice and prepared the curry, and when these were ready, they put each dish on the fire. Very soon the widow came to the door, and begged for a few sticks from the fire with which to cook her own dinner. Balna was angry with her, as usual, and said: “Why don’t you keep fuel in your own house, instead of coming here every day and taking ours? Sisters, don’t give her any more wood; let her use her own.”

But the others said: “The poor woman is doing us no harm, so let her take a little wood and fire.” Balna replied, “Perhaps some day she will do us harm, and then we shall all be sorry for it.”

Then the Rajah saw the Prime Minister’s widow go to the hearth, and as she took the wood, throw some mud into each of the dishes.

This made him very angry, and he ordered that the woman be brought before him.

This was done, but the widow spoke to him so very cleverly, saying that she had done this thing only that she might gain an audience with him, and so cunningly did she speak that she actually pleased him well with her words, and instead of punishing her, the Rajah married her; so she and her daughter came to the palace to live.

The new Ranee hated the seven poor Princesses, and wanted to get rid of them, so that her daughter might have all their riches. She was very unkind to them, and made them as miserable as she could, giving them only bread to eat and water to drink, and very little of either. This was very hard for the seven poor Princesses, who had always been used to the best of everything, and each day they would sit by their dead mother’s tomb, and say:

“Oh, mother, cannot you see how unhappy and miserable your poor children are, and how our cruel stepmother is starving us?”

One day, while they were thus engaged, a beautiful pomelo tree grew up out of the grave, covered with fresh ripe pomelos, and the children certainly enjoyed the delicious fruit. And each day after this, instead of eating the poor food their stepmother provided for them, they would go to their mother’s grave and eat the pomelos which grew there on the tree.

The stepmother was astonished that the seven girls should eat nothing and yet be well, so she told her daughter to watch them.

Next day the Prime Minister’s daughter followed them, and saw the Princesses gather and eat the pomelos.

Balna saw the girl watching them, and said to her sisters: “Let us drive that girl away, or else she will tell her mother all about it, and then we shall be worse off than ever.”

But they said: “Do not be unkind, Balna. The girl would never be so cruel as to tell her mother. Let us instead ask her to come and have some of the fruit.” So they called to her, and gave her some of the pomelos.

As soon as she could, however, she left the Princesses, and went to her mother, and told her all about the pomelo tree. She said she had eaten some, and they were the nicest she had ever tasted.

This made the cruel Ranee very angry, and the next day she told the Rajah that she had a very bad headache, and would have to stay in bed.

The Rajah was much upset, and asked what he could do for her.

She replied that there was only one thing that would cure her, and that was to boil a fine pomelo tree, root and branch, that grew on his dead wife’s grave, and to put some of the water in which it had been boiled on her forehead. So the Raja did as the Ranee desired, and then she declared that she was quite well.

Next day the Princesses went as usual to their mother’s grave, and when they found that the pomelo tree had disappeared, they wept bitterly.

As they sat there crying they saw by the tomb a small tank filled with a rich cream-like substance, which hardened into a thick white cake. They ate some of this, and liked it. Next day the same thing happened, and so it went on for many days.

The cruel stepmother said to her daughter: “I don’t understand this; I have had the pomelo tree destroyed, and yet the Princesses are as well as ever, although they never eat the dinner I give them. You must watch them again.”

Next day, while the Princesses were eating the cream-cake, along came their stepmother’s daughter. Balna saw her first, and said: “Here comes that girl again. Let us sit around the edge of the tank and not allow her to see it, for if we give her some of the cake she will go and tell her mother, and that will be very unfortunate for us.”

But instead of following her advice the other sisters gave the girl some of the cake, and she went straight home and told her mother all about it.

This made the Ranee more angry than before, and she sent her servants to pull down the tomb and fill the little tank with the ruins. The next day she pretended to be very ill indeed, and told the rajah that she was at the point of death.

This grieved him greatly, and he asked her if there were any remedy he could get for her. She replied that only one thing could save her life, but this she knew he would not do. He said that whatever it was, he would do it.

Then she told him that if he would save her life, he must kill his seven daughters, and put some of their blood on her forehead and on the palms of her hands; that their death would be her life.

This made the Rajah very sad, but he had promised, and feared to break his word, so with a heavy heart he went to seek his daughters, whom he found crying by the ruins of their mother’s grave.

Knowing that he could not kill them he spoke kindly to them, and told them to come out into the jungle with him. There he made a fire, and cooked some rice, which they ate.

It was a hot afternoon and all the Princesses fell asleep, and then the Rajah stole away and left them, saying to himself, “It is better that my poor daughters die here rather than be killed by their stepmother.”

Then he shot a deer, and returning home, put some of its blood on the forehead and hands of the Ranee, who thought that he had really killed his daughters, and said she felt quite well.

When the seven Princesses awoke and found themselves all alone in the thick jungle, they were frightened, and called out as loud as they could, hoping to make their father hear; but he was too far away by that time.

It so happened that this very day the seven young sons of a neighboring Rajah chanced to be hunting in the same jungle, and as they were returning home, after the day’s sport was over, the youngest Prince said to his brothers: “Stop, I think I hear someone crying and calling out. Let us go in the direction of the sound, and find out what it is.”

So the seven Princes rode through the wood until they came to the place where the seven Princesses sat crying and wringing their hands. At the sight of them the young Princes were very much astonished, and still more so on learning their story. They then decided that each should take one of the unfortunate young ladies home with him and marry her.

The eldest Prince took the eldest Princess home with him and married her.

The second took the second; the third took the third; the fourth took the fourth; the fifth took the fifth; the sixth took the sixth, and the seventh, the handsomest of all the Princes, took the beautiful and clever Balna.

There was great rejoicing throughout the kingdom when the seven young Princes married the seven beautiful Princesses.

About a year later Balna had a little son, and his uncles and aunts were so fond of him that he was in great danger of being spoiled. None of the other Princesses had any children, so Balna’s son was acknowledged their heir by all of them.

They lived very happily for some time, when one day Balna’s husband decided to go out hunting, and away he went. They waited a long time for his return, but he never came back.

His six brothers went in search of him, but none of them returned. And the seven Princesses grieved greatly, for they feared that their kind husbands had been killed.

One day, not long after this, as Balna was rocking her baby’s cradle, and whilst her sisters were working in the room below, there came to the palace door a man in a long black cloak, who said he was a Fakir, and had come to beg. The servants would not let him enter the palace, saying that the Rajah’s sons had all gone away, and they feared that they were dead, and their widows must not be interrupted by his begging. But he said, “I am a holy man and you must let me in.” Then the stupid servants let him walk through the palace; they did not know that he was no Fakir, but a wicked Magician named Punchkin.

He wandered through the palace, looking at the beautiful things there, and at length reached the room where Balna sat singing to her little boy. The Magician thought her more beautiful than all the other beautiful things he had seen, and he asked her to go home with him and to marry him. But she said: “I fear my husband is dead, but my little boy is still very young; I will stay here and teach him to grow up to be a clever man, and when he is old enough he shall go out into the world and seek news of his father. Heaven forbid that I should ever leave him, or marry you.”

This made the Magician very angry, so he turned her into a little black dog, and led her away, saying, “Since you will not come with me of your own free will, I will make you.” So the poor Princess was dragged away, unable to escape or to let her sisters know what had become of her.

As Punchkin went through the palace gate the servants asked him where he got that pretty little dog, and he replied that one of the Princesses had given it to him, so they allowed him to depart.

Very soon the six elder Princesses heard their nephew cry, and when they went upstairs were much surprised to find him all alone, and Balna nowhere to be seen. They questioned the servants, and when they heard of the Fakir and the little black dog they guessed what had happened and sent in every direction, but neither the Fakir nor the dog was to be found. They could do nothing, and gave up all hopes of ever seeing their kind husbands and their sister and her husband again, and so devoted themselves to the care and teaching of their little nephew.

Time went on, and Balna’s son was fourteen years old. Then his aunts told him the whole story. No sooner had he heard this than he was seized with a great desire to go in search of his father and mother and uncles, and if he could find them alive to bring them home again. On learning his determination his aunts were much alarmed, saying, “We have lost our husbands and our sister and her husband and you are now our only hope; if you go away, what shall we do?” But he replied, “Do not be discouraged; I will soon return, and if it is possible will bring my mother and father and uncles with me.” So he set out on his travels, but for several months could learn nothing that would help him in his search.

After journeying many hundreds of weary miles, and having become almost hopeless of hearing anything further of his parents and uncles, he reached a country that was full of rocks and stones and trees, and there he saw a large palace with a high tower, near which was a Malee’s little house.

As he was looking about the Malee’s wife saw him, and ran out of the house and said: “My dear boy, who are you that dare venture to this dangerous place?”

He answered, “I am a Rajah’s son, and I am in search of my father and mother and my uncles, whom a wicked enchanter bewitched.”

Then said the Malee’s wife: “This country and this palace belong to a great Magician, who is all-powerful, and if anyone displeases him he turns them into stones and trees. All the rocks and trees you see here were once living people, and the enchanter turned them into what they now are. Some time ago a Rajah’s son came here, and soon afterwards came his six brothers, and all of them were turned into stones and trees; and these are not the only unfortunate ones, for up in that tower lives a beautiful Princess whom the Magician has kept prisoner there for twelve years, because she hates him and will not marry him.”

The young Prince said to himself, “At last I have found what I seek; these must be my parents and uncles.” So he told his story to the Malee’s wife, and begged her to help him. This she agreed to do, and advised him to disguise himself, lest the Magician should see him and turn him into stone. So she dressed him up in a saree, and pretended that he was her daughter.

One day, not long after this, as the Magician was walking in his garden he saw a little girl (as he thought) playing about, and asked her who she was. She told him she was the Malee’s daughter, and the Magician said, “You are a very pretty little girl, and to-morrow you shall take a present of flowers from me to the beautiful lady who lives in the tower.”

This delighted the young Prince, who went immediately to inform the Malee’s wife.

Now it happened that when Balna was married her husband had given her a small gold ring on which her name was engraved, and she had put it on her little son’s finger when he was a baby, and later on it was enlarged, so that he was still able to wear it. The Malee’s wife advised him to fasten this ring to the bouquet he was to present to his mother, and she would surely recognize it.