Part 6

For several years Schalu reigned over his new-found kingdom, quietly, wisely and well, ably advised and assisted by his faithful friend, Saran. His people loved him, and there was happiness and prosperity throughout the land. One day a group of men stood without the council chamber and begged an audience with the Khan. Schalu graciously admitted them and asked what it was they desired.

“Sire,” said they, “we are come from the people to ask you a boon, not so much for ourselves as for your Majesty. These many years you have been with us, and yet you have not taken unto yourself a wife, and we wish mightily that you would wed some princess and so fill your home with happiness, and perchance give us a son to love and look to as our future ruler.”

This saying pleased the Khan, and he inquired about all the princesses in near-by kingdoms, declaring that he would set about at once choosing a royal wife. After that he spent many days visiting other countries and meeting princesses and great ladies from far and near; but not one of these lovely maidens entirely pleased him or made him feel that she alone out of all the world was the one for him. This damsel had a voice too sharp; that one’s temper was too quick; the other seemed cold and indifferent,—and so it was. Day after day the people expected tidings of a royal marriage, and day after day, with keen disappointment, they watched the Khan ride back to his palace alone and dejected.

At last, when Schalu was returning after another fruitless journey into a far land to visit a lady of great renown, he happened to pass a small house on the outskirts of his kingdom. And standing in the doorway was the most beautiful damsel his eyes had ever looked on. She was tall and slim, with long, black hair reaching almost to her ankles. Her eyes were big and black as midnight, and her lips were red. Moreover, there was a soft magic in her face, a something so lovely that the Khan stood spellbound, gazing at her in silence for a long time. Then, all at once, he realized that this cottage girl, in her simple work-a-day frock, was the one woman in all the world that he wanted for his wife. No more looking about for princesses and grand ladies! He had found what he longed for, and he would make this damsel his queen.

The matter was soon settled, for was not the Khan’s word law in the land? A great marriage feast was held in the palace, holidays were proclaimed throughout the land and there were revelry and mad rejoicing among all the people. If there were any to murmur against the lowliness of the new queen, their voices were quickly drowned by shouts of approval from those who had been fortunate enough to look at the beautiful face of the bride, and when the days of festivity were over, everybody settled down in peace and contentment, feeling that their Khan was at last to have a happy home life.

But it was far otherwise. Though Schalu loved his queen with all his heart, though he showered riches and treasures upon her, and though he racked his brain to find amusements and pleasures to make her happy, she only looked upon him coldly and strangely and grew ever paler, quieter and apparently more sorrowful every day. In vain the Khan besought her to tell him what he could do to please her and to win her love; in vain he tried to find out whether she had any secret cause of woe,—he could do nothing. And day by day he became more disappointed and unhappy. It grieved the courtiers and the people to see this, but above all it grieved Saran, his faithful friend, until at last he could stand it no longer and, going to Schalu, he said:

“My dear Master, my heart is nigh dead within me to see you, the best of men and of monarchs, so sorrowful. I pray you, let me advise you! It seems to me, Sire, that the queen must bear some hidden grief in her heart, else she would surely give you her love. Perhaps, if we could discover what her trouble is, we could cure it and make her the loving wife you so desire.”

“Saran, my friend,” said the Khan wearily, “have I not tried every means in my power to win the queen’s love and confidence—and all to no avail?”

“Then let me try,” said Saran eagerly, “for my heart tells me I shall succeed even where my royal master has failed.”

“Very well,” said Schalu, but he spoke without hope or interest.

From that moment, wearing the “invisible” cap, Saran watched the queen day and night, unknown to her. He neglected food and sleep that he might follow her continually, but she gave no hint at any time, by word, look or deed, of any hidden cause of sorrow. Saran was about to give up in despair when, one evening, he noticed a peculiar restlessness in the lady. She looked often at the sky, moved uneasily about the palace and seemed in an absent, dreamy state of mind. At last she retired to her own rooms, soon to emerge dressed in a long black mantle and hood which hid her face almost completely. Silently, and with many an uneasy look behind her, she made her way to a small, seldom used, back gate in the palace garden and thence out into the highroad. Once there, she vanished in the twinkling of an eye, and Saran, looking frantically in all directions, could find no trace of her. He dashed back into the palace, seized the magic boots from their hiding-place, tugged them on and muttered his wish:

“Take me wherever the queen is!”

For a moment the wind sang in his ears and the stars sped by him; then he found himself on earth again and walking in a beautiful, strange garden. Never had he smelled such fragrance or seen such profusion of flowers as these that were dimly visible in the moonlight! Paths led in many directions between rows of gorgeous bloom, and down one of them he could make out the faint outline of the queen in her long, black robe. He went on quickly and silently. She approached a palace which stood at the end of the garden, entered through a small gate, and hurried along a short, narrow passageway into an open court. Saran followed, still wearing the magic cap, and soon found himself in a brilliantly lighted room, rich beyond words and filled with a soft, smoky incense which rose in clouds from a brazier standing in a corner. So interested was he in looking about him that he quite forgot the queen for a moment and was astonished to see her step forth into the light, clad, not in her long, dark robe, but in flame-colored silk, embroidered with gold and precious stones. She approached the brazier and waved her arms slowly over it, muttering strange words in a hard, monotonous voice. Scarcely had she ceased speaking and dropped her hands to her side when in through the window flew a bird of gorgeous plumage. It darted three times through the smoke of the incense and then disappeared in a flash of light, and in its place appeared a tall, handsome man, dressed in rich garments like a prince. He looked angrily at the queen, who still stood gazing at the brazier, nor did she even glance at him as he said:

“Have you done as I bade you?”

She shook her head.

“What?” said he, stamping his foot. “After all my careful teaching, does the Khan still keep his natural form and the power of pouring gold from his mouth? Have I not given you fame and wealth and taught you magic only upon condition that you would destroy your husband?”

The unhappy queen covered her face with her hands. “I cannot do it!” she whispered. “Transform the Khan into a dog and take from him all his magic powers! I cannot, cannot do it!”

“And why not, pray?” asked the strange man with a mocking laugh. “You do not love the Khan! I have, by my magic, made that impossible.”

Saran, watching and listening from a near corner, let slip an exclamation of wonder. “So that is it!” he thought. “She is kept from loving her husband by wicked magic!”

Both the queen and the stranger started at the sound, but on looking around, could see nothing, for Saran, of course, still wore his “invisible” cap.

“Enough of this!” cried the man at length, after he had waited in vain for the queen to answer his question. “To-morrow I will take matters into my own hands. In the form of a snake I will seek the Khan and cast a spell upon him. Thereafter he will be completely in my power.”

The queen turned toward him imploringly, but like a flash he had changed himself into a bird again and was gone through the open window.

Slowly and sorrowfully the queen turned away from the glowing brazier, caught up her black robe and put it over her shoulders. As Saran followed her out to the beautiful garden, he could hear her softly crying, and his heart grew big with pity for her and anger at the strange man whom he now knew to be a wicked demon.

The next day Saran ordered a great fire to be built in the council hall, and he bade Schalu and his queen sit before it. While they were so doing, into the hall crept a great ugly serpent, green and slimy and loathsome to look on. He raised his head high and fastened his evil eyes upon Schalu, and the Khan became white and motionless and looked like one dead. The snake swayed to and fro, muttering strange words, but before his spell was ended, Saran had fallen upon him and was beating his head with a huge staff. Then the serpent turned and attacked Saran, and mightily they fought together at the edge of the great fire. Sometimes Saran would nigh fall into the flames, and sometimes the wicked demon, and great was the noise of their cries and shouting. At last the great serpent made a sudden, unexpected turn, glided under Saran’s arm and plunged at Schalu. In one breathless moment he would have reached him, but with a cry the queen jumped forward, cast her arms around the snake’s hideous green neck and flung him from her into the fire. A great smoke arose, and with a scream an ugly demon leaped from the midst of the flames and flew out through the window, leaving his snake form behind him, smoldering in the ashes!

“My!” exclaimed the Prince, standing still in excitement. “How thrilling! And did Schalu recover from his spell, and did the brave queen love him after that?”

“Yes, indeed!” said the Siddhi-kur with a little laugh. “The wicked demon lost all his power over the queen after that and never troubled her or her husband again. And she proved to be a most loving and dutiful wife, and they all lived happily together for the rest of their days.”

“Saran should have had a lovely wife, too,” said the Prince thoughtfully, beginning to move on again.

“Wait a bit, my friend,” said the Siddhi-kur, “you may add to the story as you wish, by yourself, as you journey onward! As for me, I am off for the cool grove beside the garden of ghost children, for you have broken silence again on your way home, and I am free once more!”

With a shout of joy he leaped from the magic sack and dashed off toward the north, where his mango tree stood awaiting him.

The Prince sighed wearily. “Oh, how stupid I am!” said he. “But I will get the Siddhi-kur even yet, and carry him to my master, Nagarguna, if I have to spend the rest of my life in doing it!”

And so it came about that in a few days the Khan’s son was again journeying back toward the cave of Nagarguna bearing upon his back the Siddhi-kur.

“Friend,” said that creature of magic, at length. “I have just bethought me of a marvellous tale which I am minded to tell you. You may listen or not, as you wish; for me, at least, it will make the way and the hours seem shorter. The name of this story is ‘The Fortunes of Shrikantha.’”

TALE SEVEN

THE FORTUNES OF SHRIKANTHA

There was once a lad, the son of a Brahman, who was neither very poor nor very rich, very good nor very bad, very wise nor very foolish, but who had the kindest heart in all the world. His name was Shrikantha, and he lived long ago in India. When he was old enough to do as he liked, he sold all that he had and bought three pieces of cloth goods, very fine and handsome, and with these he was minded to trade and make his fortune. He bade his parents good-by and started forth to journey to a near-by city where he thought he might trade to the best advantage.

He had not gone far before he came upon a band of cruel boys who were tormenting a little mouse.

“Stop!” said Shrikantha, in anger. “The mouse is suffering and will die! Have you no pity in your hearts?” But the boys only laughed at him and continued their wicked play. So, seeing that words were useless, Shrikantha bargained with them, and they finally agreed to set the mouse free in return for one of his three handsome pieces of cloth. After he had seen the little creature scamper safely away, Shrikantha sighed and continued his journey, the poorer by one third of his possessions, but with a satisfied heart.

A little farther on, what should he see but another group of boys ill treating an ape and laughing to see the poor thing suffer. Shrikantha tried to hurry by without noticing it, but he could not endure to see pain and do nothing to relieve it, so in a moment he stopped and tried by reasoning with the boys to make them cease their cruelty. As in the first case, he found his words were all in vain, and only by giving up his second piece of goods could he buy relief and freedom for the ape. And now he felt poor indeed, having nothing left in the world save one handsome bit of cloth.

“Never mind,” said he to himself reassuringly, “even with this, if I bargain shrewdly, I may trade and make my fortune. At any rate, the look of gratitude that poor ape gave me was worth much more than a paltry piece of merchandise.” So he went on with a light step and a merry heart, but, to his dismay, he soon heard again a cry of pain and saw yet another group of boys gathered around a young bear and cruelly abusing it.

“Alas!” thought Shrikantha. “This time I must harden my heart and pass by, for well I know words will do no good, and I cannot give away my last possession!” He quickened his step and tried to think of something else as he hurried by, but at that moment the poor little bear cried out so piteously that he could not endure it. Turning about, he hastened to where the unkind lads were standing and spoke long and earnestly with them. But, as it had been in the two other cases, so it was now; Shrikantha argued in vain and finally had to offer his last treasure that the bear might go free. Then he started forth again empty-handed.

“I might as well go back to my father,” he thought, “yet not so—he will but chide me for foolish kindness of heart! I will continue on my way, for surely Dame Fortune will repay me for what I have lost in so good a cause!” Fortune, however, was minded to do otherwise.

Now the road to the city led Shrikantha directly by the palace of the Khan, and just as he was passing the great gate, he heard shouts and confusion within and immediately a man dashed out.

“Run! Run for your life!” he cried, as he rushed past, and Shrikantha, without stopping to think, did as he was told.

He heard the roar of many voices and the running steps of many feet behind him, and so he ran faster than ever. On and on he sped, but his pursuers slowly gained on him until he could hear their cries and curses, and even feel the panting breath of the foremost ones.

“Stop, thief!” they cried. “Stop the wicked thief! He has stolen the Khan’s jewels!”

Hearing this, Shrikantha grew more alarmed and, instead of stopping at once to reason with the men that it was not he who had stolen the jewels, but doubtless the man ahead of him, he foolishly ran on faster than ever. At last his breath gave out completely, his knees seemed to break beneath him and he fell, panting and sobbing, to the ground. In a moment his pursuers were upon him and were binding him with a tight cord, kicking and abusing him between their gasping breaths. In vain did he try now to explain himself; he was too breathless to complete a single sentence, and they were too angry and too sure of their prey to listen. He was taken at once to the Khan’s court, and though of course no jewels were found on him, and though he pleaded his innocence with tears and prayers, he was condemned to die a horrible death. On the morrow, two strong, cruel men threw him into a great wooden chest, sealed the lid of it tight and cast it into the river.

Poor Shrikantha felt the lapping of the water against his air-tight box and gave himself up as one already killed by cruel fate. But Fate thought otherwise!

In a short time the great chest, bumping along with the current of the river, caught against some rocks on an island and there stuck fast. And who should be on that very spot but the little mouse whom Shrikantha had saved from the abuse of the cruel boys. Seeing the big, ungainly box come a-shore on her island, the mouse investigated the matter and soon discovered that her friend and rescuer was shut up within.

“Have courage!” she squeaked to him, through the cracks of the chest, and immediately she began to gnaw at a corner of it. When she had eaten out a hole in the wood large enough to admit some air to Shrikantha, who was already almost suffocated, she hurried off to find the ape and the bear. They soon returned with her, declaring they were only too glad to help. Together they dragged the chest a-shore, broke it open and set Shrikantha free. Then, for many days the three faithful creatures supplied the lad with nuts and fruits so that he suffered not at all for lack of food and drink.

One day the mouse came to Shrikantha, bearing in her mouth a small, blue stone.

“Take this, Master,” said she, laying it in his hand. “It is a talisman, my dearest possession, and I give it to you in gratitude for what you did once upon a time for me. Take it and breathe a wish upon it, and you shall have your heart’s desire.”

Shrikantha looked at the little blue stone in wonder and, thinking that he would merely test its power, wished himself away from the island. No sooner thought than the island vanished beneath him, and he found himself in a meadow on the mainland. He was surprised and delighted beyond words, and he looked at the blue stone again and wished eagerly for a palace set in the midst of a beautiful park, with rare trees, birds and flowers about it and every luxury and comfort within. He closed his eyes and, opening them again in a moment, beheld a lovely garden where the meadow had been, a gorgeous palace in the distance, and all exactly as he had wished to have it, only more beautiful and wonderful than he had dared to think. With the greatest joy he walked about his park and into his palace, finding there room after room richly furnished, servants bowing before him at every turn and costly possessions strewn about in profusion. Truly, he thought to himself, a Khan might now envy him his wealth!

“But I must have my faithful friends here to enjoy all this good fortune with me!” said he to himself at length. So he wished for the mouse, the ape and the bear, and instantly they stood before him.

And now Shrikantha lived in luxury and happiness for some time, and it seemed as if he might continue to live so until the end of his days. But Fate planned otherwise. There came to the palace one day a caravan of wicked, thieving merchants, and the chief among them made friends with Shrikantha and in an evil moment persuaded him to tell the secret of his good fortune.

“Alas!” said the merchant, when Shrikantha had told him all and shown him the precious blue talisman. “How lucky some men are, how unlucky others! Here are you, scarcely more than a lad; you have never worked or traded or done anything whereby a man earns wealth, and yet you are loaded with every blessing, while I, who have toiled hard and honestly my whole life through, have nothing—nothing in all the world but a handful of cheap goods which I must bargain hard to trade off for the bare necessities of my miserable existence!” And with that he sighed so wretchedly that Shrikantha’s tender heart melted within him.

“If only—” said the wicked merchant, “but I must not suggest such a thing!”

“Suggest what?” asked Shrikantha, full of sympathy.

“If only,” continued the other, “if only in the kindness of your heart, you would lend me your talisman for one moment, I could wish myself a comfortable little home, and peace and quiet for the rest of my days! You would be none the poorer; indeed, you would be richer for the prayers and blessings of a happy man!”

It was such a simple way in which to help the poor fellow that Shrikantha did not hesitate an instant, but put the magic blue stone trustingly into his hands. With a scornful laugh, the wicked merchant shouted his wish aloud:

“I want all the possessions Shrikantha has, and I desire him to return to the place and state in which he was when this talisman was given to him!”

In a flash, Shrikantha found himself again on the island in the river, with not a sign of all his former wealth and glory about him. He sat down on the ground and beat his forehead with his hands.

“What a miserable fool I have been!” said he to himself, over and over again.

“Yes, you have been foolish, Master!” said a squeaky little voice in his ear, “but truly in kindness have you been so.” Looking around, Shrikantha saw his friend, the little mouse.

“Of what avail is it that my heart is kind, if by that very kindness I lose everything I have in the world?” said he with a sigh, refusing to be comforted.

“You have not lost everything,” corrected the mouse, “you still have three faithful friends who were won to you forever by that same kind heart of yours.”

And without another word the little creature disappeared, leaving Shrikantha still lamenting on the ground.

It were too long a tale to tell how the three animal friends met and planned together, how they went at night to the palace of the wicked merchant, crept to his room, and how the ape and the bear waited breathlessly outside while the mouse climbed through the keyhole and stole the talisman from the breast of the sleeping man. They had little trouble in passing the many guards, who were on the lookout for men, not animals, to steal their master’s treasure. When they reached the river, however, in sight of Shrikantha himself, a sorry adventure befell them. The bear was the only one of the three who could swim, and so, in order to cross the water, the ape got upon the bear’s back, put the mouse upon his shoulder and the talisman in his mouth. Thus, with this precious, heavy load on his back, the bear started bravely on his long swim across to the island. In the very middle of the stream, a fish passed within a few feet of his nose, and he, foolish creature, made a dive for it. The ape lost his balance and cried out in fright, letting the blue talisman slip from his mouth into the water. Down it sank into the muddy depths, and the three friends, in dismay, watched it disappear.

“Alack-a-day!” wailed the little mouse. “We have spent all our time and labor for nothing, and our poor friend on the island will surely die of hunger and despair! What shall we do? Whatever shall we do?”

The bear turned and swam back to the mainland, and there the three sat down disconsolately on the shore.

“What a fool you were to jump at that fish!” said the ape to the bear crossly.

“What a fool you were not to keep your mouth shut, when you had such a treasure inside it!” growled the bear.

“Now don’t waste time blaming each other!” counselled the mouse. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it was; the talisman is gone, and we must get it again; that is the thing to think about.”

“Get it again!” the bear was crosser than ever. “I’d like to know how that can be done! It has gone to the bottom of the river, thanks to the carelessness of the ape, and we can never recover it. Let us go to our homes; we have done enough for the man already to more than pay for his kindness to us.”