Chapter I: Sind Folk Stories (2)

It so happened that Shah Makai and Haidar Ali came about this time to Sind. Shah Makai’s real name was Shah Mahmud; but because he lived at Maka or Mecca, he was known as Shah Makai. Haidar Ali’s real name was Ali. But, because as a child he had torn to pieces a live snake with his bare hands, he was called Haidar Ali or the Ali who tore the “Hai” or snake. His fortune was as great as his childhood foretold; for in due course he became the son-in-law of the holy prophet and the fourth Imam of the Faithful. As the two friends journeyed through Sind, they came to hear the fame of Nigar’s beauty and courage. Straightway they hastened to Nerankot and one evening Shah Makai saw the lovely girl astride of her lion, riding outside the walls. He fell madly in love with her. Then he heard that she had vowed not to marry anyone, unless he could tame and mount a lion. Shah Makai as a true and devout believer, had but little difficulty in performing this feat and the next time that Nigar rode abroad, she saw to her surprise and pleasure Shah Makai astride of a maned lion, hardly less majestic than her own. She asked him who he was; and learning that he had broken in the lion for love of her, she vowed that she would wed him and no other. Shah Makai sought an audience of Neran Raja and asked for his daughter’s hand. Nigar, too, pressed her father to give his consent to the marriage. But the proud king’s heart was as hard as stone and although he heard the full tale of Shah Makai’s courtship, he refused to give his daughter to one who was not a Hindu, but a Mleccha. With contumely he drove Shah Makai from his Court. When Nigar vowed that in spite of her father she would wed the bold Arabian, Raja Neran threw her into a well and had a huge stone put over its mouth. The evil news reached Shah Makai. He tried to move the stone; but it was so big, that even he, saint though he was, failed. He implored the help of Haidar Ali. To that pillar of Islam the task was light. He mounted his white mule Dhul Dhul and made it dance on the top of the stone. Then he dismounted and throwing himself at full length on the ground, he prayed Allah to remove it. He had hardly finished his prayer, when the stone rolled aside and Nigar with Haidar Ali’s help was able to climb out of the well. He gave her to Shah Makai, who carried her off in triumph. But Haidar Ali cursed the wicked Neran; and stretching wide the five fingers of his right hand made the bhundo sign at him. Not long afterwards the curse was fulfilled. The Arabs landing on the sea coast of Sind swept through the land, stormed Nerankot and killed Raja Neran. For many centuries Nerankot lay in ruins. Then the wise and pious Ghulam Shah Kalhoro came to the spot and deeming it well fitted for the site of his capital city, he rebuilt Nerankot. While the new fortress was building, he raised a small mud stronghold close to the spot where Shah Makai and the beautiful Painted Lady were in their old age buried side by side. When Nerankot was finished, Ghulam Shah Kalhoro went to live in it and renamed it Haidarabad after Haidar Ali. He gave his mud stronghold to the Fakirs who guarded Shah Makai’s tomb. Up to Burton’s time a lion—said to be a descendant of Nigar’s riding lion—used to be kept in a cage under a tamarind tree, close to Shah Makai’s last resting place. The tree still stands, but the lion has vanished. The rise in the price of lion’s food was no doubt the cause of its disappearance.

About a quarter of a mile from the tomb of Shah Makai is another small but holy building known as Shah Kadam. Within it are preserved the stones on which Haidar Ali’s white mule Dhul Dhul did its miracle-working dance. Its hoof marks may still be seen stamped deep in the stone. By its side a slab bears the marks of Haidar Ali’s hands, knees, feet and forehead, which he made when he prostrated himself in prayer before Allah. And a third stone bears the marks of the saint’s fingers and thumb when he made the bhundo at Raja Neran. So violent was the Imam’s curse that it has lived on, monumentum aere perennius. The well into which Nigar was thrown is one of the three inside Nerankot, but none could tell me with certainty which it was. Perhaps the most interesting relic of that golden time is a great “djar” tree that grows near Shah Makai’s tomb. The guardian of the shrine assured me that it had grown from a bit of stick, which the saint had one day used as a toothbrush and then carelessly thrown aside.

BRAHMANABAD.—I.

The ruined town of Brahmanabad, probably the most interesting spot in Sind, lies about eleven miles from Shahdadpur. A road sufficiently good for a Ford Car leads thither and a run there on a cold weather morning is a bracing and exhilarating experience. When Brahmanabad is reached one sees, as far as the eye can range, an endless waste of brick ruins, the site of a once mighty city. It flourished in the time of Alexander. It was still great in the eighth century when Mahomed Kasim invaded Sind. What caused its downfall? The whole question was admirably discussed in 1854 by Mr. Bellasis of the Indian Civil Service. His conclusion was that the city had been overwhelmed by an earthquake, which at the same time changed the bed of the Indus, formerly close by the city walls and the source of its greatness. The destruction of Brahmanabad, wrote Mr. Bellasis, was so complete that it could not have been caused by a fire or by a hostile force. There were, moreover, no signs of fire. There were quantities of jewellery among the ruins, which neither fugitive inhabitants nor an enemy would have left. At the same time there were many skeletons visible in corners and doorways—the skeletons of men and women overwhelmed, no doubt, as they sought to escape. The skeletons have long ago gone to manure the neighbouring fields, just as the bricks of the houses in which they once lived are to be found in the villages round about. Still we may safely accept the evidence of Mr. Bellasis as well as the accuracy of his conclusions. But if Brahmanabad was overwhelmed by an earthquake, what were the circumstances attending it? We have no historical record. But there exist two legends—a Musulman and a Hindu legend. They differ widely from each other, only agreeing in this that the end of Brahmanabad came because of God’s wrath at the wickedness of its ruler, Dalu Rai. I shall relate the Musulman legend first. It is to be found in the Tufat-ul-Kiram and runs somewhat as follows:

Once upon a time there ruled over the city of Brahmanabad a Hindu king, called Dalu Rai (May Allah confound him!) whose wickedness is still well remembered in the land of Sind. He had, however, a brother called Chota Amrani, who had given up kufar or ingratitude and had won immortal happiness by embracing Islam. He had left Brahmanabad and had committed to memory the whole Koran and also all the customs of the True Believers. On his return to the city his relatives wanted him to marry; but King Dalu Rai said with a cruel sneer “He is a renegade. Let him go on a pilgrimage to Mecca and there wed the daughter of some famous Arab; but he shall not marry the daughter of any Hindu subject of mine!”

Chota Amrani feared to stay longer in Brahmanabad, so he set out on a pilgrimage to Mecca. After many hardships and dangers he reached the Holy City. As he walked through the streets, he passed a shop, wherein a woman, instead of attending to her customers was reading aloud the Koran. Chota Amrani stopped to listen. The woman saw him and asked him why he did not pass on. “I have stopped,” said Chota Amrani, “to listen to the words of Holy Writ. I have learnt the Koran by heart; but if you will teach me its various readings, I shall become your slave.” “Nay,” said the woman, “I am not fit to teach you. I have a teacher of my own. She is a maiden and you cannot enter her home in a man’s dress. But if you change your clothes and dress like a girl, I shall take you to her.” Chota Amrani who was still quite young and without any beard on his chin, agreed. He dressed up as a girl and was taken to the house of the learned maiden by the woman in the shop. The maiden’s name was Fatima and she readily undertook the instruction of the foreign girl, who had come from so far off to see Mecca. One day the shopwoman asked Fatima some questions concerning the marriage of her daughter. Fatima, who was skilled in astrology as well as in matters religious, answered the questions with ease. Chota Amrani then to test the maiden said “As you can tell the future of others, you can surely tell your own future.” Fatima replied “My fate is to be married to a man from Sind.” “But when?” asked the astonished visitor. “In no long time,” replied Fatima. “But where is the man?” asked Chota Amrani. Fatima pretended to consult her astrological books and said with a smile “You are the man.” Then she added “Begone and come no longer in the garb of a girl. Put on a man’s dress and ask formally for my hand, for I am destined to be yours.”

Chota Amrani, abashed at the penetration of his disguise, went away and returned dressed as a man. He formally asked for the hand of Fatima. His request was granted and she became his wife.

After two or three months had passed, Chota Amrani told Fatima that he must take her back with him to Sind. Fatima made no objection and they set sail for the land of the Indus river. When they reached Brahmanabad, they found that Dalu Rai had recently issued a law that every young married woman should be brought to his couch for at least one night. He therefore demanded that Chota Amrani should send Fatima to his palace. Chota Amrani refused and Dalu Rai did nothing for the moment. But one day when Chota Amrani was absent from the city, Dalu Rai forced his way into his brother’s house and tried to seduce Fatima. The noble lady virtuously resisted all his efforts to lead her astray and fortunately before he could use violence to her, Chota Amrani returned. He drove the wicked king from his house and instantly left Brahmanabad with Fatima. As he left, a voice from heaven was heard to say “This city will soon be swallowed because of its king’s wickedness. Let those who are warned flee from the accursed spot or keep watch against the day of atonement.” A few obeyed and shook from their feet the dust of the doomed city, but most of the people paid no heed. The first night the city was spared, because an old woman working at a wheel kept awake all night, as the voice had commanded. The second night an oil presser kept watch unceasingly. But the third night the inhabitants forgot the divine warning. Suddenly, while all slept the entire city was swallowed up. Of all its splendid buildings only one minaret remained, as an example and a warning to other kings and peoples.

BRAHMANABAD.—II.

Now let us turn to the Hindu legend which I came across in a Sind magazine. It ran as follows:—

Once upon a time Brahmanabad, now a heap of ruins, was the glory of all Sind. It stood on an oasis in the desert; and to guard its people from sudden raids by desert tribes, one of its kings had built round it a great wall. Beneath the wall flowed the river Indus, on whose waters the merchant ships of Brahmanabad carried the city’s commerce up and down Sind. Inside the walls were rich houses, countless gardens, and a mighty tower, that served as a landmark for miles around. About a mile and a half from Brahmanabad was the royal suburb of Dalor in which stood the king’s palace and the quarters of his guards. Some five miles from Brahmanabad stood the suburb of Depur. Therein lived the ministers with their public offices and their record-rooms and storehouses. Along the banks of the river was a collection of huts, wherein lived a wild gipsy tribe known as Madu. They lived by selling milk and ghi to the rich burghers of Brahmanabad.

The reigning King Amrai was beloved by his people and when his queen died, he would not give her place to another. He devoted his life to the upbringing of their only son, prince Dalu Rai. Unhappily so evil was the lad’s nature, that the more care the king spent on him the worse he grew. He gathered round him a band of bad companions and all day and every day the royal palace resounded with the cries of the prince’s victims. At last the king out of all patience, shut up his son in the tall tower which looked over the country round Brahmanabad. But the fickle mob at once turned round. “What a cruel father!” they cried. “Fancy treating thus the heir to the throne!” King Amrai consulted his ministers and they advised him to free his son, but at the same time to put in charge of him some wise and virtuous old man, who by example and precept would show him the error of his ways. King Amrai thought their advice good and freeing the prince, appointed a wise old man to look after him and to teach him. Although the king said nothing to Dalu Rai, the latter guessed, when an aged pandit called on him, that he was in some way to be over him. He instantly resolved to treat the old man in such a way that neither he nor any other old man in the kingdom would accept the post again. He pretended to listen with the greatest attention to all the old man’s words and seemed so eager to do what was right, that the sage thought the prince the most charming of pupils. After some hours of talk, the prince made his master dine with him. During the meal the old man talked as one inspired; and as he talked, the prince’s servants filled his glass over and over again with drugged wine. Before the meal was over the poor old pandit was fast asleep. The prince had him put to bed and as he lay asleep, the prince’s barber shaved off the sage’s moustaches and stuck in their place crow’s feathers. Next morning when the old man awoke, he passed his hand over his face and found the horrible thing that had been done to him. He rose, fled from the prince’s house and threw himself at King Amrai’s feet and told him of the prince’s cruel trick. The king soothed the old man as best he could; but he was so affected, that he never shewed himself in the Darbar Hall again.

The prince was thus free to act as he pleased. One evening he and his good for nothing companions went out a-hawking. Game was scarce and their hawks caught nothing. At last they reached a well near a Madu hamlet not far from the town. Vexed at their ill luck, they loosed their hawks at some tame pigeons that belonged to the villagers and happened to be circling near the well. All the pigeons but one took shelter in their dovecotes. One pigeon flew into the air followed by the prince’s hawk. For some time the two birds soared in the air, one unable to rise above the other. At last the hawk’s strong wings bore it above the pigeon and it made its swoop. The frightened pigeon dropped like a stone to the ground at the feet of a Madu maiden of 16, who was filling her jar at the well. The girl picked up the pigeon and stroking its feathers put it in her bosom. The hawk robbed of its prey, flew back to perch on the wrist of the prince’s huntsman. The prince rode up to the girl and with an evil smile on his lips, told her that she might keep the pigeon. He would not hunt it now that it had taken shelter in her bosom. The girl turned on him scornfully and said “A fine hunter you are to hawk a tame pigeon!” The prince pretended to be sorry for what he had done and then asked the girl to give him a drink of water from her jar. But the Madu maiden disliking his looks and tone, told him to get one of his servants to fetch water for him. But the prince pressed her, pleading that their horses were restive. Reluctantly the girl went close to him to give him a cup of water. Suddenly he caught her by the waist and swung her in front of him. A moment later he and his companions were riding as fast as they could to the prince’s palace. Some Madu men ran after them but in vain. The prince carried off the girl and the men with him said in jest “The prince’s hawk lost its prey, but the prince had better luck!” As the party neared the palace, they passed an aged Brahman, who, hearing the cries of the struggling girl, begged the prince to free her. But Dalu Rai only snarled at him to mind his own business. The Brahman, who was a mighty anchorite, flew into a passion and cursed him. “As a punishment for your cruelty,” he cried, “you will never live to be old. Your city will be destroyed and you will perish with it so suddenly, that you will not have time to give even a handful of grain in charity!”

The prince paid little heed to the anchorite’s curse, but bore his prey inside the palace. There he found everyone excited as the princess had just borne her lord a son. But the prince pushed past his servants and took the Madu girl to a distant part of the palace and there tried to win her consent. But she scornfully rejected his promises of rich clothes and fine jewels. At last when he had lost all patience and was about to offer her violence, he heard a knock at his door. It was a messenger who brought the news that King Amrai was dead. At the same time he told the prince that Banbho, one of his associates wished to speak to him most urgently. The prince was unwilling to leave the Madu girl, but he could not refuse so grave a message, especially as Banbho was not only the wickedest but by far the wisest of his evil companions. The prince went out, locked the door behind him, and took Banbho into another room. The news Banbho brought was of the gravest. “The news I bring, my Prince,” he said slowly, “is as bad as it can be. Unless you act at once this palace of yours is certain to become your prison. The late king was angry with you, as you know, and before he died, he had engraved as his will on a brass plate that you were never to sit on the throne. In your stead the ministers were to put your son if you had one, and if not, your distant cousin. Now that a son has been born to the princess, think what a handle your enemies will have against you! They will put you in prison and make your infant son king of Brahmanabad. You must act at once!” Banbho’s plan was simple. It was to proclaim the prince as king in Brahmanabad and then to gallop with every available man to Depur where the ministers had assembled to carry out the late king’s wishes. Banbho taking some men with him, first rode through the streets of Brahmanabad, shouting “Victory to Dalu Rai Maharaj!” The crowd at once caught up the cry and were soon shouting “Victory to Dalu Rai Maharaj” through every lane and byway in the city. This done, Banbho returned to the prince’s palace and he and the prince and his companions and all the guards whom they could muster, set off together at headlong speed for Depur. While Banbho was thus rousing his master to action, the prime-minister and the commander-in-chief and the principal nobles of Brahmanabad were seated together in one of the council rooms of Depur. The prime-minister, respected above all for his age and wisdom and for his faithful service of the late king, put before his colleagues the brass plate of King Amrai and proposed that they should take instant steps to seize the person of Dalu Rai and put his newly born son on the throne. Several of the nobles objected strongly. For all their respect for the late king and their dislike of Dalu Rai, they disliked still more the coronation of a newly born infant with all the dangers of a long regency. While they were in high debate, the commander-in-chief heard a noise in the courtyard and guessing its cause, said with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders: “I am afraid we are too late, gentlemen. The prince has come in person to settle the succession.” Dalu Rai and Banbho followed by their troopers rushed up the stairs and Banbho knocking at the door, demanded entrance in the king’s name. Receiving no answer, he caught up a heavy pickaxe and with a single blow broke open the lock. The door flew open and the prince and his men rushed in. Many of the nobles at once joined him. But the chief minister and a few others remained seated. As the prince stepped forward, the prime-minister gave him the brass plate on which was engraved his father’s will. The prince read it and glowing with rage “from his topknot to his toenails,” rushed at the old man. Both sides drew their swords. A fight ensued, but it was soon over. The prime-minister and the commander-in-chief lay dead on the ground and the rest surrendered.

Dalu Rai would at once have gone back to the Madu maiden; but Banbho who “had a crow’s wisdom” prevailed on him to spend the day and the following night on the late king’s funeral ceremonies. All day long and all that night Dalu Rai’s thoughts were far away with his unhappy captive. Next morning Banbho pressed him to hold a Darbar and win over the state officers and townspeople by concessions and gifts. But Dalu Rai could restrain himself no longer. “You spoiler of pleasure!” he cried angrily to Banbho, “I am not going to hold a Darbar! Tell my officers that I am too stricken with sorrow to hold one.” With these words King Dalu Rai left Banbho to manage as best he could, and rode off with all speed to the conquest of the Madu maiden. Unluckily for him, he had carelessly left behind him his dagger when summoned by Banbho. The Madu girl had picked it up and when the wicked king would have caught her in his arms she pointed the dagger at him and threatened to stab him if he came near her. As he stood uncertain what to do, he heard cries outside his palace “Maharaja! Maharaja!” Dalu Rai went to the verandah and looking down saw his courtyard full of frightened people. “Maharaja, save us!” they cried. “Brahmanabad will be destroyed.” Dalu Rai looked towards the horizon and saw a huge mass of sand like a tidal wave advancing on Brahmanabad. The sky was as black as pitch. The sun was hidden and the Indus had left its course and seemed to be fleeing before the sandstorm. As he gazed at the fearful scene, a voice cried: “To-day Brahmanabad shall perish because of its ruler’s wickedness!” The king remembered the anchorite’s curse and would have ridden away leaving his city and his people to their fate. But as he walked to the door a youth with drawn sword barred his way. “Who are you?” asked the king. “I am your death,” was the grim answer. The king had no other wish but to flee from the doomed town; but the youth would not let him pass. At last the king drew his sword and the two men fought. The youth was skilled in swordmanship but even so he was no match for Dalu Rai, who was a master of the art. In a few minutes the king drove his sword through the youth’s heart and bending over him dragged him into the Madu maiden’s room. As he did so, the girl drove her dagger into his back. “Why did you strike me?” asked the dying king. “Was the youth your kinsman?” “He was my betrothed,” said the girl with white lips and blazing eyes. The king fainted and life left him. The girl took some wood from the hearth where a fire was burning and lit the drapery in the room. In a few minutes it was blazing. The fire spread to the rest of the palace and it was soon a burning mass. At the same time the sand reached the walls of Brahmanabad. The burghers sought flight in all directions, but flight was useless. The sandwave caught them and stifled them, until at last there was not a living soul left in Brahmanabad.

The curse of the anchorite had been fulfilled to the letter.

THE EIGHTH KEY.

Once upon a time there ruled over Sind a king, who throughout his reign had been distinguished for wisdom and justice; but he had grown old and had only one son, born to him by one of his queens, when he was in the evening of his life. His darling wish was to see his son of an age to succeed him before he died. But as kings even are only pawns in the hands of the great chessplayer, his hope was never fulfilled. Feeling death approach, he sent for his chief minister and gave him the eight keys of his eight treasure chambers. “Guard the throne for my son,” said the dying man, “and when he is of an age to rule by himself, give him seven of the eight keys; but do not give him the eighth until he has ruled for five years.” The chief minister promised faithfully to do his master’s bidding and the old king died in his arms.

The young prince was duly raised to the throne and the chief minister watched over him as if he had been his own son. When the prince came of age, he succeeded to a rich and prosperous kingdom and the minister handed over to him, just as the old king had desired, seven out of the eight keys. With the seven keys the prince opened seven treasure vaults and found them chock full of silver and gold pieces and precious stones of every description. He was pleased beyond measure; and he felt deeply grateful to the faithful minister, who had discharged his trust so well and while keeping the people happy had made their king rich beyond the dreams of avarice. For a time all went well; then some evilminded old man, who envied the chief minister, told the king that there were really eight treasure vaults and that the minister had not handed over the eighth key, so that he might keep for himself the contents of the eighth treasure vault. In a great rage the young king sent for the chief minister and demanded on pain of instant death the eighth key. The old statesman fell at his young master’s feet and telling him with many tears the whole story handed him the eighth key. The king was so excited at the tale, that he snatched away the key and running as fast as he could to the eighth treasure vault, turned the key in the lock and flung open the door. To his amazement the room was absolutely bare, save for the portrait of a beautiful girl, that hung on one of the walls. The king’s eyes ran round the empty room and then they rested on the face in the picture. There they stayed until the youth fell so deeply in love with the beautiful girl, that he grew gradually fainter and at last swooned away. The minister and the courtiers sprinkled rosewater over their prostrate master and at last revived him; but he vowed that unless the minister promised to bring him the lovely picture maiden, he would not only refuse to reign, but would starve himself to death.

The old minister was dismayed at the state of the king and soothed him by telling him that he would at once set out to fetch the beautiful girl. He loaded a vessel full of merchandise of all descriptions and with some chosen companions weighed anchor and set sail for the open sea. They touched at various ports, but although they shewed the chief men there the portrait found in the eighth chamber, none recognised it. At last after the voyage had lasted a whole year, they reached a distant haven and there they shewed their picture. The people standing by clapped their hands and cried out “Why, it’s our own princess!” The minister was taken to the king and queen who shewed them their daughter and all agreed that she was the original of the portrait. The minister told the king that he was a merchant and after giving the king splendid gifts stayed in the country until he had sold all his merchandise. He then turned his prow homewards and many months later he was able to tell his king that the lovely picture maiden had been found. Without a moment’s delay the king vowed that he would seek her himself. Again filling the vessel with merchandise, the king, the minister and the some band of trusty companions went on board and weighing anchor, they set sail for the distant land wherein the princess dwelt. After a voyage of several months and many hardships, they reached it and the minister again presented himself in the guise of a merchant before the princess’ father. On his earlier visit the minister had learnt that the princess was very fond of toys; so he had brought for her a number of toys, in the making of which the people of his country were very skilled. There were toy dogs that ran for miles, toy lions and tigers that roared horribly, toy partridges that rose with a whirr just like live ones, toy pheasants that flew up slantwise into the air and toymen who walked about and talked just as if they had been real. The princess gave a cry of delight on seeing all these wonderful play-things; but the minister said “These are nothing to what you will see, if you will visit our ship. My master the merchant who is on board would only let me bring the commonest toys ashore.” The princess was wild to see the other toys and taking six maid-servants with her went with the minister to the seashore and aboard the ship. There the young king received her with the greatest courtesy and respect and began to shew her other toys. But as she was looking at them and clapping her hands at each fresh one, the crew quietly cut the anchor cable and were out to sea, before the princess or her friends on shore had any idea what was happening.

When the poor princess found that she had been taken captive, she wept bitterly, but the king soothed her and told her how he had fallen in love with her picture and had sailed across half the world to win her. At last she dried her eyes and promised to be his queen directly the ship brought them to his country. The journey took many weary months, but at last they were only three days sail off and the king and betrothed, as happy as possible, together were walking up and down the deck, hand in hand. The chief minister was sitting in the bows straining his eyes trying to get a glimpse of the land. Now among the old man’s many accomplishments was the power to understand the speech of birds. As he looked landwards, he saw a parrot and a maina fly to the ship and perch in the rigging. After a little while the maina felt dull and begged the parrot to tell her a story. At first the parrot demurred, then he said: “There is a story going on before your very eyes. You see how happy the king and queen seem to be? Well, the king has only three more days to live! When he lands three days hence, he will be met by his officers and his troops, his elephants, his horses and his chariots. He will be given the most beautiful horse of all to ride; but that horse is not really a horse at all, but a demon. Directly the king is on its back, it will fly away with him into the air and will then drown him by flinging him into the sea.” The maina was affected to tears by this story; for she loved the parrot dearly and knew how the princess would grieve at the loss of her betrothed. “Is there no way,” cried the maina, “by which the king can be saved?” “Yes, my beloved,” answered the parrot, “there is one way. If someone goes up to the horse just before the king mounts it and cuts its head off, the king will be saved. But do not repeat what I have told you; for if anyone repeats it, one third of his or her body will be turned into stone.” The parrot and the maina then flew away, leaving the minister, who had understood all that they had said, a prey to the cruelest anxiety.

Next day the parrot and the maina flew back to the ship and perched in the rigging. The minister on seeing them went back to his seat in the bows of the ship, so that he might listen to what they said. The maina said “Tell me, please, what will happen to the king, if he escapes from the demon horse? Will he not wed the princess and live happily ever afterwards?” “Nay, my heart’s desire,” said the parrot, “the king and the princess will never, I fear, be happy together. Even although the king escapes from the demon horse he will still be in the gravest peril. During the wedding the king will see a beautiful gold plate. He will be so pleased with it, that he will pick it up and pass it round among his courtiers to collect alms for the Brahmans, who are conducting the ceremony. But he will not live to pass the plate to all his courtiers, for it is poisoned and as he passes it round, the poison on it will enter the pores of his skin and will kill him in a few seconds.” The poor maina was as much upset at this story as she had been at the other. “Is there no way,” she sobbed, “to save the poor king?” “Yes, my beloved,” answered the parrot, “if anyone were to put on gloves and snatch away the plate before the king can handle it, he will be saved. But do not repeat what I have told you, for if you do, a third of your body will be turned into stone.” Shortly afterwards, the parrot and the maina flew away, leaving the minister sadder even than he had been the previous day.

The next day, which was the last of the voyage, the disheartened minister went and sat in the prow of the ship, to hear anything more that the parrot might say to the maina. He had not been seated more than a few minutes before the two birds came and perched a few feet above his head. “Dear Parrot,” said the maina, “if the king is not poisoned by the plate, will he and the princess not even then marry and live happy together ever afterwards?” “Nay, well beloved, even then the king will not live long enough to make the princess happy. After the wedding ceremony, the king and the princess will be so tired that directly their heads touch the pillow, they will go off to sleep. While they are asleep, a snake that lives in the roof of the bridal chamber will drop poison from his fangs on to the princess’ cheek. When the king wakes out of his first sleep and kisses the princess, he will touch the poison with his lips and will die instantly.” The maina was dreadfully sorry to hear this new danger and asked tearfully whether there was no way by which the king could escape from that death also. “Yes, well beloved,” said the parrot, “there is one chance of his escape, but it is so remote that the king is sure to die. If someone were to hide himself in the bridal chamber until the poison fell and kissed the princess’ cheek, the king would be saved; nor would his saviour die either if he drank at once a large glass of milk. But do not tell anyone about this, for if you do a third of your body will be turned into stone.” The two birds then flew away.

The minister was in despair, but he was a brave and loyal man and he resolved to save his master, even if it cost him his life. When the king landed and tried to mount the demon horse, the minister drew his sword and with a single stroke cut its head off. The king was very angry and asked the minister why he had done it; but the minister dared not explain for fear of a third part of his body being turned into stone. The king could not understand it, still in view of the minister’s great services he forgave him. The wedding ceremonies of the king and his bride were celebrated with great splendour; and in the middle of them, the king seeing a beautiful gold plate stretched out his hand to take it and to collect alms for the officiating Brahmans. The minister at once pushed past the king and with a gloved hand, seized the golden plate and threw it far away into a running stream. The king was still more angry especially as the minister, afraid of being turned into stone, would not say why he had done it.

After the wedding ceremonies were over, the king and queen tired out with the fatigues of the day went to rest; and so sleepy were they that directly their heads touched their pillows, they fell asleep. The minister, however, had hidden himself behind a screen in the bridal chamber. He saw the snake come out of his hiding place in the roof, wriggle along a beam and then drop poison on the face of the sleeping queen. He stepped up to the bed, kissed the poison off the queen’s face and then took a deep draught of milk. The queen woke up on feeling the kiss and roused the king. They were both very angry at seeing the minister in their room and the king called to his guards to seize the minister and hang him early next morning from the battlements of the palace. The guards seized the poor old minister and took him to prison. There the old man asked to see the king before he died, as a last favour. The king had not the heart to refuse it. The minister was taken in chains to the royal palace and there he poured out the whole truth. But as he related how the parrot had warned him about the demon horse, his feet and legs turned to marble; then as he told about the poisoned plate, his body as far as his armpits turned to marble; lastly when he had finished the tale of the poison dropped by the snake, his head and shoulders became marble, too.

The king was at first too astonished to do anything and then he wept bitterly at the awful fate that had overtaken his loyal and faithful servant. He put the petrified body in a room in his palace and daily for several years prostrated himself at its feet to shew his sorrow. In course of time the queen bore him a son and every day he used to bring the little boy into the minister’s room to shew him what a good and true servant he had once had. One day when the little boy was three years old, the very same parrot and maina, that had perched in the ship’s rigging, flew into the minister’s room and began talking to each other. The king just because he was standing close to the minister was able to follow what they were saying. The parrot said to the maina “The king is very sad at the fate of his minister; but he could bring him back to life now, if he wanted to.” “How could he?” asked the maina. The parrot answered “If he kills his own son and sprinkles his blood over the stone body, the minister will become flesh and blood once more.” The king thought long and deeply where his duty lay; at last he felt that he owed more to the faithful minister who had saved his life three times than to his son. He drew his sword, cut off the little boy’s head and sprinkled his blood over the marble body. The minister at once came to life again. Nor was this all. The minister learning of the death of the little prince prayed so earnestly to God to bring him back to life that his prayer was granted. The king then took the minister and the little prince to the queen’s room and told her all that had happened. She agreed that the king had acted rightly, even though his act would but for God’s mercy, have cost her her son. The minister once more resumed his duties; and he and the king, the queen and the little prince lived together happily for ever so long afterwards.

THE NOOSE OF MURAD.

Near the small town of Naushahro in the district of Nawabshah, there is an old fort called Murad jo Killo or Murad’s Fort. It is a big place, but crumbling to ruins; still the walls that remain are so wide that three men, so it is said, can sleep on them side by side. There is also in that part of the country a proverbial saying, used when anyone grumbles at his lot, “Does he want Murad jo phaho” (the noose of Murad). Now this is the tale that is told both of the fort and of the proverbial saying:

Somewhere in the early part of the eighteenth century, when Nur Mahomed Kalhoro was ruler of Sind, he had as jamadar or headman of his grass-cutters a certain Murad, known as Murad Ganjo or Murad the Bald. So completely had his hair vanished, that you might have looked all over his head from north to south and from east to west and then any other way you liked, but you would not have found a single hair on any part of it. Murad used daily to inspect the grass-cutters’ work and when on this duty, he noticed an old half-mad woman called Fatima. For some days he paid no attention to her. Then it occurred to him that the old woman might be a witch or sorceress, whom it might be well to propitiate; so he reverently went up to her and asked for her blessing. The old woman looked at him attentively and then blessed him, adding “Murad the Bald, you will become a kardar,” or as we should say nowadays a tapedar or talati. Murad thought no more about the prophecy until one day Nur Mahomed Kalhoro, in return for Murad’s honesty and hard work, promoted him from jamadar of grass-cutters to be a kardar.

Murad was now quite certain that the old woman was a real sorceress, one to be made much of in every way. For many months he brought her daily small gifts of food or money; then he summoned up courage to ask again for her blessing. Again the old woman looked at him intently, blessed him and added “Murad the Bald, you will be a naib subha,” or as we should say nowadays a Deputy Collector. Not many months passed before Nur Mahomed Kalhoro, still more pleased with Murad’s steady and faithful work, promoted him to be a Naib Subha. There is a French proverb which says L’appétit vient en mangeant, that is to say the greedy are never satisfied; and Murad began to feel soon that the post of Naib Subha was far beneath his merits. He plied the old woman with more valuable gifts and for the third time asked her blessing. She looked intently at him as before and blessing him for the third time said “Murad the Bald, you will become a subha” or as we should say a Collector of a district. Murad the Bald not very long afterwards was given charge of a district, thereby reaching a post far above his deserts. He was still an ignorant, unlettered boor and for a time he was fully satisfied with his office. He built the great fort known as Murad jo Killo and seemed perfectly contented. But after a year or two be began to think that the old woman, who had raised him so high, might raise him higher still, might make him a king or perhaps even emperor of Delhi. After all stranger things had happened before and “Allah alone knoweth all.” Tortured by his insatiable greed, Murad the Bald showered jewels and gold on the old woman and for the fourth time asked for her blessing. But this time a terrible thing occurred. Instead of the fixed kindly look, that she had been used to give him, her eyes flashed with demoniac fury and instead of a blessing, she cursed him “Murad the Bald,” she screamed at him “you will rise higher still, you will be hanged.” Poor Murad left the witch as she raved and gnashed her teeth and going home, tried in vain to put the matter out of his mind.

Now it so happened that the Afghan ruler of Multan, Nadir Khan by name, lost the youngest and most beautiful of his wives. She fell in love with one of her lord’s servants and ran away with him right out of the Multan province into Murad’s district. She took with her a huge diamond and a priceless manuscript on surgery and medicine. Murad the Bald came to hear of the arrival of the two fugitives and promptly took from them the diamond and the manuscript, which he stored in the royal treasure house of Nur Mahomed Kalhoro. The queen and her lover, fearing that they might themselves be detained and given over to Nadir Khan, fled from Sind pretending that they were going on a pilgrimage to Mecca.

In the meantime the indignant Nadir Khan in vain looked all over his kingdom for his missing queen and servant. At last he learnt that she and her lover had fled into the lands of Nur Mahomed Kalhoro. Nadir Khan summoned his army and marching to the frontier, demanded the surrender of the queen and her lover, the diamond and the manuscript. Nur Mahomed Kalhoro enquired of Murad and learnt that the guilty couple had fled, but that the diamond and the manuscript were safe in his treasury. He sent back the manuscript and the diamond. “These came into our hands,” he wrote, “but they do not belong to us. The guilty couple have fled, so we cannot return them, but take the manuscript and the diamond since they are yours. We do not want them nor do we wish for war. Nevertheless, if you are bent on war, we shall accept your challenge. We shall gladly shew you how strong are our arms and how sharp are our swords.”

Nadir Khan liked Nur Mahomed’s answer and instead of war there was peace, and instead of battles and skirmishes there were visits and reviews and banquets. Nevertheless Nadir the Afghan was not quite sure that Nur Mahomed Kalhoro had not seized his beautiful queen and hidden her in some deep recess of his own harem. He sent for Murad and begged him to speak the truth: “If my queen and servant have really gone to Mecca, it is useless to search for them here; but if Nur Mahomed Kalhoro is secretly keeping my queen, then I shall slay him and give his throne to the man, who tells me the whole truth.” As Murad listened to the words of the Afghan, Satan the Stoned seized his five senses. Forgetting all his master’s kindness and favours, he thought to himself that there now stretched in front of him an open and easy road to a throne. With seeming reluctance he confessed that the queen and her paramour had never left Sind. Nur Mahomed Kalhoro had taken the queen to be his concubine and had cut off the head of her paramour with a single stroke of his sword, just as if he had been a buffalo. Nadir the Afghan believing Murad and angry at what he believed to be the double dealing of Nur Mahomed Kalhoro, resolved to march into Sind and to seat Murad on the throne in his place. He had gone only one march when the news reached him that his missing queen and her lover had been found in the country of a neighbouring Raja, who was sending them back in chains to their master.

Nadir the Afghan was now as angry with Murad as he had been with Nur Mahomed Kalhoro. He told the latter the lying tale told by his subha Murad. Mahomed Nur was shocked at the ingratitude of the base born wretch on whom he had lavished favours. His horsemen rode out and seized Murad the Bald and at the king’s orders, hanged him from the battlements of his own fortress. So ended the fortunes of the greedy and faithless adventurer; and that is why men say to-day that it is better to be contented with one’s lot than to rise so high that in the end one dangles from the end of a rope forty or fifty feet above the ground.

THE MAKLI HILL.

Most English visitors to Tatta go there for the shooting only and I should be the last to blame them. Below the ancient fort of Kalankot near Tatta is a lake of the same name. It is quite shallow and overgrown with tall reeds, the home of innumerable duck. They rise all round, as one is poled in boats through lanes cut among the reeds and quick eye and hand are needed before they can be bagged. But close to the bungalow are a number of ancient tombs; and as no record of their owners is to be found on the walls, a few facts about them may prove interesting to future visitors.