Chapter XI: Introduction (10)

The Rajah listened to the Princess' words, and was certain that they were true and she no common beggar from the jungles. For, for all her ragged clothes, she looked a royal lady, and shone like a star in the darkness. Moreover, her eyelids were darkened with antimony and her beautiful face painted with saffron, like the face of a Princess. Then he felt a great pity for her, and said, "Lady, have no fear, for I will take care of you," and dragging the rich coverlid off his bed he threw it over her to keep her warm, and going to the Brahmin's house, which was close by, fetched some rice, which he gave her to eat. Then he said, "I am the Chundun Rajah, of whom you have heard. I die every day, but every night I come to life for a little while." She cried, "Do none of your family know of this? and if so, why do you stay here in a dismal tomb?" He answered, "None know it but the Brahmin who has charge of this place. Since my life is thus maimed, what would it avail to tell my family? It would but grieve them more than to think me dead. Therefore, I have forbidden him to let them know; and since my parents only come here by day, they have never found it out. Maybe I shall some time wholly recover, and till then I will be silent about my existence." Then he called the Brahmin who had charge of the tomb and the shrine (and who daily placed an offering of food upon it for the Rajah to eat when he came to life), and said to him, "Henceforth, place a double quantity of food upon the shrine, and take care of this lady. If I ever recover she shall be my Ranee." And having said these words he died again. Then the Brahmin took the Princess to his little hut, and bade his wife see that she wanted for nothing, and all the next day she rested in that place. Very early in the morning Chundun Rajah's mother and sisters came to visit the tomb, but they did not see the Princess; and in the evening, when the sun was setting, they went away. That night, when the Chundun Rajah came to life, he called the Brahmin, and said to him, "Is the Princess still here?" "Yes," he answered; "for she is weary with her journey, and she has no home to go to." The Rajah said, "Since she has neither home nor friends, if she be willing, you shall marry me to her, and she shall wander no further in search of shelter." So the Brahmin fetched his shastra[88] and called all his family as witnesses, and married the Rajah to the little Princess, reading prayers over them and scattering rice and flowers upon their heads. And there the Chundun Ranee lived for some time. She was very happy; she wanted nothing, and the Brahmin and his wife took as much care of her as if she had been their daughter. Every day she would wait outside the tomb, but at sunset she always returned to it and watched for her husband to come to life. One night she said to him, "Husband, I am happier to be your wife, and hold your hand and talk to you for two or three hours every evening, than were I married to some great living Rajah for a hundred years. But oh what joy it would be if you could come wholly to life again! Do you know what is the cause of your daily death? and what it is that brings you to life each night at twelve o'clock?"

[88] Sacred books.

"Yes," he said, "it is because I have lost my Chundun Har,[89] the sacred necklace that held my soul. A Peri stole it. I was in the palace garden one day, when many of those winged ladies flew over my head, and one of them, when she saw me, loved me and asked me to marry her. But I said no, I would not; and at that she was angry, and tore the Chundun Har off my neck and flew away with it. That instant I fell down dead, and my father and mother caused me to be placed in this tomb; but every night the Peri comes here and takes my necklace off her neck, and when she takes it off I come to life again, and she asks me to come away with her and marry her, and she does not put on the necklace again for two or three hours, waiting to see if I will consent. During that time I live. But when she finds I will not, she puts on the necklace again and flies away, and as soon as she puts it on, I die."[90]

[89] Sandlewood necklace.

[90] See Notes at the end.

"Cannot the Peri be caught?" asked the Chundun Ranee. Her husband answered, "No, I have often tried to seize back my necklace, for if I could regain it I should come wholly to life again; but the Peri can at will render herself invisible and fly away with it, so that it is impossible for any mortal man to get it." At this news the Chundun Ranee was sad at heart, for she saw no hope of the Rajah's being restored to life; and grieving over this she became so ill and unhappy that even when she had a little baby boy born, it did not much cheer her, for she did nothing but think, "This poor child will grow up in this desolate place, and have no kind father day by day to teach him and help him as other children have, but only see him for a little while by night; and we are all at the mercy of the Peri, who may any day fly quite away with the necklace and not return." The Brahmin, seeing how ill she was, said to the Chundun Rajah, "The Ranee will die unless she can be somewhere where much care will be taken of her, for in my poor home my wife and I can do but little for her comfort. Your mother and sister are good and charitable; let her go to the palace, where they will only need to see she is ill to take care of her." Now it happened that in the palace courtyard there was a great slab of white marble, on which the Chundun Rajah would often rest on the hot summer days; and because he used to be so fond of it, when he died his father and mother ordered that it should be taken great care of, and no one was allowed to so much as touch it. Knowing this, Chundun Rajah said to his wife, "You are ill; I should like you to go to the palace, where my mother and sisters will take the greatest care of you. Do this, therefore: take our child and sit down with him upon the great slab of marble in the palace courtyard. I used to be very fond of it; and so now for my sake it is kept with the greatest care, and no one is allowed to so much as touch it. They will most likely see you there and order you to go away; but if you then tell them you are ill, they will, I know, have pity on you and befriend you." The Chundun Ranee did as her husband told her, placing her little boy on the great slab of white marble in the palace courtyard and sitting down herself beside him. Chundun Rajah's sister, who was looking out of the window, saw her and cried, "Mother, there are a woman and her child resting on my brother's marble slab; let us tell them to go away." So she ran down to the place, but when she saw Chundun Ranee and the little boy she was quite astonished, the Chundun Ranee was so fair and lovable-looking, and the baby was the image of her dead brother. Then returning to her mother, she said, "Mother, she who sits upon the marble stone is the prettiest little lady I ever saw; and do not let us blame the poor thing; she says she is ill and weary, and the baby (I know not if it is fancy, or the seeing him on that stone) seems to me the image of my lost brother."

At this the old Ranee and the rest of the family went out, and when they saw the Chundun Ranee, they all took such a fancy to her and to the child that they brought her into the palace, and were very kind to her, and took great care of her; so that in a while she got well and strong again, and much less unhappy; and they all made a great pet of the little boy, for they were struck with his strange likeness to the dead Rajah; and after a time they gave his mother a small house to live in, close to the palace, where they often used to go and visit her. There also the Chundun Rajah would go each night when he came to life, to laugh and talk with his wife and play with his boy, although he still refused to tell his father and mother of his existence. One day it happened, however, that the little child told one of the Princesses (Chundun Rajah's sister) how every evening some one who came to the house used to laugh and talk with his mother and play with him, and then go away. The Princess also heard the sound of voices in Chundun Ranee's house, and saw lights flickering about there when they were supposed to be fast asleep. Of this she told her mother, saying, "Let us go down to-morrow night and see what this means; perhaps the woman we thought so poor and befriended thus is nothing but a cheat, and entertains all her friends every night at our expense."

So the next evening they went down softly, softly to the place, when they saw, not the strangers they had expected, but their long-lost Chundun Rajah. Then, since he could not escape, he told them all--how that every night for an hour or two he came to life, but was dead all day. And they rejoiced greatly to see him again, and reproached him for not letting them know he ever lived, though for so short a time. He then told them how he had married the Chundun Ranee, and thanked them for all their loving care of her.

After this he used to come every night and sit and talk with them; but still each day, to their great sorrow, he died; nor could they divine any means for getting back his Chundun Har, which the Peri wore round her neck.

At last one evening, when they were all laughing and chatting together, seven Peris flew into the room unobserved by them, and one of the seven was the very Peri who had stolen Chundun Rajah's necklace, and she held it in her hand.

All the young Peris were very fond of the Chundun Rajah and Chundun Ranee's boy, and used often to come and play with him, for he was the image of his father's and mother's loveliness, and as fair as the morning; and he used to laugh and clap his little hands when he saw them coming; for though men and women cannot see Peris, little children can.

Chundun Rajah was tossing the child up in the air when the Peris flew into the room, and the little boy was laughing merrily. The winged ladies fluttered round the Rajah and the child, and she that had the necklace hovered over his head. Then the boy, seeing the glittering necklace which the Peri held, stretched out his little arms and caught hold of it, and as he seized it the string broke, and all the beads fell upon the floor. At this the seven Peris were frightened and flew away, and the Chundun Ranee, collecting the beads, strung them and hung them round the Rajah's neck; and there was great joy amongst those that loved him, because he had recovered the sacred necklace, and that the spell which doomed him to death was broken.

The glad news was soon known throughout the kingdom, and all the people were happy and proud to hear it, crying, "We have lost our young Rajah for such a long, long time, and now one little child has brought him back to life." And the old Rajah and Ranee (Chundun Rajah's father and mother) determined that he should be married again to the Chundun Ranee with great pomp and splendor, and they sent letters into all the kingdoms of the world, saying, "Our son the Chundun Rajah has come to life again, and we pray you come to his wedding."

Then, among those who accepted the invitation, were the Chundun Ranee's seven brothers and their seven wives; and for her six sisters-in-law, who had been so cruel to her and caused her to be driven out into the jungle, the Chundun Ranee prepared six common wooden stools; but for the seventh, who had been kind to her, she made ready an emerald throne and a foot-stool adorned with emeralds.

When all the Ranees were taken to their places, the six eldest complained, saying, "How is this? Six of us are given only common wooden stools to sit upon, but the seventh has an emerald chair?" Then the Chundun Ranee stood up, and before the assembled guests told them her story, reminding her six elder sisters-in-law of their former taunts, and how they had forbidden her to see them again until the day of her marriage with the Chundun Rajah, and she explained how unjustly they had accused her to her brothers. When the Ranees heard this they were struck dumb with fear and shame, and were unable to answer a word; and all their husbands, being much enraged to learn how they had conspired to kill their sister-in-law, commanded that these wicked woman should be instantly hanged, which was accordingly done. Then, on the same day that the Chundun Rajah remarried their sister, the six elder brothers were married to six beautiful ladies of the court amid great and unheard-of rejoicings, and from that day they all lived together in perfect peace and harmony until their lives' end.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XXI.

_SODEWA BAI._

Once upon a time there lived a Rajah and Ranee, who had only one daughter, and she was the most beautiful Princess in the world. Her face was as fair and delicate as the clear moonlight, and they called her Sodewa Bai.[91] At her birth her father and mother had sent for all the wise men in the kingdom to tell her fortune, and they predicted that she would grow up richer and more fortunate than any other lady; and so it was, for from her earliest youth she was good and lovely, and whenever she opened her lips to speak pearls and precious stones fell upon the ground, and as she walked along they would scatter on either side of her path, insomuch that her father soon became the richest Rajah in all that country, for his daughter could not go across the room without shaking down jewels worth a dowry. Moreover, Sodewa Bai was born with a golden necklace about her neck, concerning which also her parents consulted astrologers, who said, "This is no common child; the necklace of gold about her neck contains your daughter's soul: let it therefore be guarded with the utmost care, for if it were taken off and worn by another person she would die." So the Ranee, her mother, caused it to be firmly fastened round the child's neck, and as soon as she was old enough to understand, instructed her concerning its value, and bade her on no account ever to allow it to be taken off.

[91] The Lady Good Fortune.

At the time my story begins this Princess was fourteen years old, but she was not married, for her father and mother had promised that she should not do so until it pleased herself; and although many great rajahs and nobles sought her hand, she constantly refused them all.

Now Sodewa Bai's father, on one of her birth-days, gave her a lovely pair of slippers made of gold and jewels. Each slipper was worth a hundred thousand gold mohurs. There were none like them in all the earth. Sodewa Bai prized these slippers very much, and always wore them when she went out walking, to protect her tender feet from the stones; but one day, as she was wandering with her ladies upon the side of the mountain on which the palace was built, playing and picking the wild flowers, her foot slipped and one of the golden slippers fell down, down, down the steep hill-slope, over rocks and stones, into the jungle below. Sodewa Bai sent attendants to search for it, and the Rajah caused criers to go throughout the town and proclaim that whoever discovered the Princess' slipper should receive a great reward; but though it was hunted for far and near, high and low, it could not be found.

It chanced, however, that not very long after this a young Prince, the eldest son of a Rajah who lived in the plains, was out hunting, and in the jungle he picked up the very little golden slipper which Sodewa Bai had lost, and which had tumbled all the way from the mountain-side into the depths of the forest. He took it home with him, and showed it to his mother, saying, "What a fairy foot must have worn this tiny slipper!" "Ah, my boy," she said, "this must have belonged to a lovely Princess, in truth (if she is but as beautiful as her slipper); would that you could find such a one to be your wife!" Then they sent into all the towns of the kingdom to inquire for the owner of the lost slipper, but she could not be found. At last, when many months had gone by, it happened that news was brought by travelers to the Rajah's capital, of how, in a far distant land, very high among the mountains, there lived a beautiful Princess who had lost her slipper, and whose father had offered a great reward to whoever should restore it; and from the description they gave all were assured it was the one that the Prince had found.

Then his mother said to him, "My son, it is certain that the slipper you found belongs to none other than the great Mountain Rajah's daughter; therefore take it to his palace, and when he offers you the promised reward, say that you wish for neither silver nor gold, but ask him to give you his daughter in marriage. Thus you may gain her for your wife."

The Prince did as his mother advised; and when, after a long, long journey, he reached the court of Sodewa Bai's father, he presented the slipper to him, saying, "I have found your daughter's slipper, and for restoring it I claim a great reward." "What will you have?" said the Rajah. "Shall I pay you in horses? or in silver? or in gold?" "No," answered the Prince, "I will have none of these things. I am the son of a Rajah who lives in the plains, and I found this slipper in the jungle where I was hunting, and have traveled for many weary days to bring it you; but the only payment I care for is the hand of your beautiful daughter; if it pleases you, let me become your son-in-law." The Rajah replied, "This only I cannot promise you; for I have vowed I will not oblige my daughter to marry against her will. This matter depends upon her alone. If she is willing to be your wife, I also am willing; but it rests with her free choice." Now it happened that Sodewa Bai had from her window seen the Prince coming up to the palace gate, and when she heard his errand, she said to her father, "I saw that Prince, and I am willing to marry him." So they were married with great pomp and splendor. When all the other Rajah's, Sodewa Bai's suitors, heard of this, they were, however much astonished as well as vexed, and said, "What can have made Sodewa Bai take a fancy to that young Prince? He is not so wonderfully handsome, and he is very poor. This is a most foolish marriage." But they all came to it, and were entertained at the palace, where the wedding festivities lasted many days. After Sodewa Bai and her husband had lived there for some little time, he one day said to his father-in-law, "I have a great desire to see my own people again and to return to my own country. Let me take my wife home with me."

The Rajah said, "Very well. I am willing that you should go. Take care of your wife; guard her as the apple of your eye; and be sure you never permit the golden necklace to be taken from her neck and given to any one else, for in that case she would die." The Prince promised, and he returned with Sodewa Bai to his father's kingdom. At their departure the Rajah of the Mountain gave them many elephants, horses, camels and attendants, besides jewels innumerable and much money, and many rich hangings, robes and carpets. The old Rajah and Ranee of the Plain were delighted to welcome home their son and his beautiful bride; and there they might all have lived their lives long in uninterrupted peace and happiness, had it not been for one unfortunate circumstance. Rowjee (for that was the Prince's name) had another wife, to whom he had been married when a child, long before he had found Sodewa Bai's golden slipper; she therefore was the first Ranee, though Sodewa Bai was the one he loved the best (for the first Ranee was of a sullen, morose and jealous disposition.) His father also, and his mother, preferred Sodewa Bai to their other daughter-in-law. The first Ranee could not bear to think of any one being Ranee beside herself; and more especially of another not only in the same position, but better loved by all around than she; and therefore in her wicked heart she hated Sodewa Bai and longed for her destruction, though outwardly she pretended to be very fond of her. The old Rajah and Ranee, knowing of the first Ranee's jealous and envious disposition, never liked Sodewa Bai to be much with her; but as they had only a vague fear, and no certain ground for alarm, they could do no more than watch both carefully; and Sodewa Bai, who was guileless and unsuspicious, would remonstrate with them when they warned her not to be so intimate with Rowjee Rajah's other wife, saying, "I have no fear. I think she loves me as I love her. Why should we disagree? Are we not sisters?" One day, Rowjee Rajah was obliged to go on a journey to a distant part of his father's kingdom, and, being unable to take Sodewa Bai with him, he left her in his parents' charge, promising to return soon, and begging them to watch over her, and to go every morning and see that she was well; which they agreed to do.

A little while after their husband had gone, the first Ranee went to Sodewa Bai's room and said to her, "It is lonely for us both, now Rowjee is away; but you must come often to see me, and I will come often to see you and talk to you, and so we will amuse ourselves as well as we can." To this Sodewa Bai agreed, and to amuse the first Ranee she took out all her jewels and pretty things to show her. As they were looking over them, the first Ranee said, "I notice you always wear that row of golden beads round your neck. Why do you? Have you any reason for always wearing the same ones?" "Oh, yes," answered Sodewa Bai, thoughtlessly. "I was born with these beads round my neck, and the wise men told my father and mother that they contain my soul, and that if any one else wore them I should die. Therefore I always wear them. I have never once taken them off." When the first Ranee heard this news she was very much pleased; yet she feared to steal the beads herself, both because she was afraid she might be found out, and because she did not like with her own hands to commit the crime. So, returning to her house, she called her most confidential servant, a negress, whom she knew to be trustworthy, and said to her, "Go this evening to Sodewa Bai's room when she is asleep, and take from her neck the string of golden beads, and fasten them round your own neck, and return to me. Those beads contain her soul, and as soon as you put them on she will cease to live." The negress agreed to do as she was told; for she had long known that her mistress hated Sodewa Bai and desired nothing so much as her death. So that night, going softly into the sleeping Ranee's room, she stole the golden necklace, and fastening it round her own neck, crept away without any one knowing what was done; and when the negress put on the necklace, Sodewa Bai's spirit fled.

Next morning the old Rajah and Ranee went as usual to see their daughter-in-law, and knocked at the door of her room. No one answered. They knocked again and again; still no reply. They then went in, and found her lying there, cold as marble and quite dead, though she seemed very well when they had seen her before. They asked her attendants, who slept just outside her door, whether she had been ill that night, or if any one had gone into her room? But they declared they had heard no sound, and were sure no one had been near the place. In vain the Rajah and Ranee sent for the most learned doctors in the kingdom, to see if there was still any spark of life remaining; all said that the young Ranee was dead, beyond reach of hope or help.

Then the Rajah and Ranee were very much grieved, and mourned bitterly; and because they desired that, if possible, Rowjee Rajah should see his wife once again, instead of burying her underground, they placed her beneath a canopy in a beautiful tomb near a little tank, and would go daily to visit the place and look at her. Then did a wonder take place, such as had never been known throughout the land before! Sodewa Bai's body did not decay nor the color of her face change; and a month afterward, when her husband returned home, she looked as fair and lovely as on the night on which she died. There was a fresh color in her cheeks and on her lips; she seemed to be only asleep. When poor Rowjee Rajah heard of her death he was so broken-hearted they thought he also would die. He cursed the evil fate that had obliged him to go away and deprive him of hearing her last words, or bidding her farewell, if he could not save her life; and from morning to evening he would go to her tomb, and rend the air with his passionate lamentations, and looking through the grating to where she lay calm and still under the canopy, say, before he went away, "I will take one last look at that fair face. To-morrow Death may have set his seal upon it. Oh, loveliness, too bright for earth! Oh, lost, lost wife!"

The Rajah and Ranee feared that he would die or go mad, and they tried to prevent his going to the tomb; but all was of no avail; it seemed to be the only thing he cared for in life.

Now the negress who had stolen Sodewa Bai's necklace used to wear it all day long, but late each night, on going to bed, she would take it off and put it by till next morning, and whenever she took it off Sodewa Bai's spirit returned to her again, and she lived till day dawned and the negress put on the necklace, when she again died. But as the tomb was far from any houses, and the old Rajah and Ranee and Rowjee Rajah only went there by day, nobody found this out. When Sodewa Bai first came to life in this way, she felt very much frightened to find herself there all alone in the dark, and thought she was in prison; but afterward she got more accustomed to it, and determined when morning came to look about the place and find her way back to the palace, and recover the necklace she found she had lost (for it would have been dangerous to go at night through the jungles that surrounded the tomb, where she could hear the wild beasts roaring all night long); but morning never came, for whenever the negress awoke and put on the golden beads Sodewa Bai died. However, each night, when the Ranee came to life, she would walk to the little tank by the tomb and drink some of the cool water, and return; but food she had none. Now, no pearls or precious stones fell from her lips, because she had no one to talk to; but each time she walked down to the tank she scattered jewels on either side of her path; and one day, when Rowjee Rajah went to the tomb, he noticed all these jewels, and thinking it very strange (though he never dreamed that his wife could come to life), determined to watch and see whence they came. But although he watched and waited long, he could not find out the cause, because all day long Sodewa Bai lay still and dead, and only came to life at night. It was just at this time, two whole months after she had been buried, and the night after the very day that Rowjee Rajah had spent in watching by the tomb, that Sodewa Bai had a little son; but directly after he was born day dawned, and the mother died. The little lonely baby began to cry, but no one was there to hear him; and, as it chanced, the Rajah did not go the tomb that day, for he thought, "All yesterday I watched by the tomb and saw nothing; instead, therefore, of going to-day, I will wait till the evening, and then see again if I cannot find out how the jewels came there."

So at night he went to the place. When he got there he heard a faint cry from inside the tomb, but what it was he knew not; perhaps it might be a Peri or an evil spirit. As he was wondering the door opened and Sodewa Bai crossed the courtyard to the tank with a child in her arms, and as she walked showers of jewels fell on both sides of her path. Rowjee Rajah thought he must be in a dream; but when he saw the Ranee drink some water from the tank and return toward the tomb, he sprang up and hurried after her. Sodewa Bai, hearing footsteps follow her, was frightened, and running into the tomb, fastened the door. Then the Rajah knocked at it, saying, "Let me in; let me in." She answered, "Who are you? Are you a Rakshas or a spirit?" (For she thought, "Perhaps this is some cruel creature who will kill me and the child.") "No, no," cried the Rajah, "I am no Rakshas, but your husband. Let me in, Sodewa Bai, if you are indeed alive." No sooner did he name her name than Sodewa Bai knew his voice, and unbolted the door and let him in. Then, when he saw her sitting on the tomb with the baby on her lap, he fell down on his knees before her, saying, "Tell me, little wife, that this is not a dream." "No," she answered, "I am indeed alive, and this our child was born last night; but every day I die, for while you were away some one stole my golden necklace."

Then for the first time Rowjee Rajah noticed that the beads were no longer round her neck. So he bade her fear nothing, for that he would assuredly recover them and return; and going back to the palace, which he reached in the early morning, he summoned before him the whole household.

Then, upon the neck of the negress, servant to the first Ranee, he saw Sodewa Bai's missing necklace, and seizing it, ordered the guards to take the woman to prison. The negress, frightened, confessed all she had done by order of the first Ranee, and how, at her command, she had stolen the necklace. And when the Rajah learnt this he ordered that the first Ranee also should be imprisoned for life, and he and his father and mother all went together to the tomb, and placing the lost beads round Sodewa Bai's neck, brought her and the child back in triumph with them to the palace. Then, at news of how the young Ranee had been restored to life, there was great joy throughout all that country, and many days were spent in rejoicings in honor of that happy event; and for the rest of their lives the old Rajah and Ranee, and Rowjee Rajah and Sodewa Bai, and all the family, lived in health and happiness.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XXII.

_CHANDRA'S VENGEANCE._

There was once a Sowkar's[92] wife who had no children; one day she went crying to her husband and saying, "What an unhappy woman I am to have no children! If I had any children to amuse me I should be quite happy." He answered, "Why should you be miserable on that account; though you have no children, your sister has eight or nine; why not adopt one of hers?" The Sowkar's wife agreed, and, adopting one of her sister's little boys, who was only six months old, brought him up as her own son. Some time afterward, when the child was one day returning from school, he and one of his schoolfellows quarreled and began to fight, and the other boy (being much the older and stronger of the two) gave him a great blow on the head and knocked him down, and hurt him very much. The boy ran crying home, and the Sowkar's wife bathed his head and bandaged it up, but she did not send and punish the boy who hurt him, for she thought, "One can't keep children shut up always in the house, and they will be fighting together sometimes and hurting themselves." Then the child grumbled to himself, saying, "This is only my aunt; that is why she did not punish the other boy. If she had been my mother, she would certainly have given him a great knock on his head to punish him for knocking mine, but because she is only my aunt, I suppose she doesn't care." The Sowkar's wife overheard him, and felt very much grieved, saying, "This little child, whom I have watched over from his babyhood, does not love me as if I were his mother. It is of no use; he is not my own, and he will never care for me as such." So she took him home to his own mother, saying, "Sister, I have brought you back your child." "How is this?" asked her sister. "You adopted him as yours for all his life. Why do you now bring him back?" The Sowkar's wife did not tell her sister what she had heard the boy say, but she answered, "Very well; let him be yours and mine: he shall live a while with you, and then come and visit me; we will both take care of him." And returning to her husband, she told him what she had done, saying "All my pains are useless; you know how kind I have been to my sister's boy, yet, after all I have done for him, at the end of seven years he does not love me as well as he does his mother, whom he had scarcely seen. Now, therefore, I will never rest until I have seen Mahdeo[93] and asked him to grant that I may have a child of my own."[94]

[92] Merchant's.

[93] The Creator.

[94] See Notes at the end.

"What a foolish woman you are!" answered her husband; "why not be content with your lot? How do you think you will find Mahdeo? Do you know the road to heaven?" "Nay," she replied, "but I will seek for it until I find it out, and if I never find it, it cannot be helped, but I will return home no more unless my prayer is answered." So she left the house, and wandered into the jungle, and after she had traveled through it for many, many days, and left her own land very far behind, she came to the borders of another country, even the Madura Tinivelly[95] country, where a great river rolled down toward the sea. On the river-bank sat two women--a Ranee named Coplinghee Ranee and a Nautch woman.

[95] Two provinces of the Madras Presidency, on the mainland
opposite Ceylon. They are famous in Hindoo mythology.

Now, neither the Ranee, the Nautch woman nor the Sowkar's wife had ever seen each other before they met at the river-side. Then, as she sat down to rest and drink some of the water, the Ranee turned to the Sowkar's wife and said to her, "Who are you, and where are you going?" She answered, "I am a Sowkar's wife from a far country, and because I was very unhappy at having no children, I am going to find Mahdeo and ask him to grant that I may have a child of my own."

Then, in her turn, she said to the Ranee, "And pray who are you, and where are you going?" The Ranee answered, "I am Coplinghee Ranee, queen of all this country, but neither money nor riches can give me joy, for I have no children; I therefore am going to seek Mahdeo and ask him to grant that I may have a child." Then Coplinghee Ranee asked the Nautch woman the same question, saying, "And who may you be, and where are you going?" The Nautch woman answered, "I am a dancing woman and I also have no children, and am going to seek Mahdeo and pray to him for a child." At hearing this, the Sowkar's wife said, "Since we are all journeying on the same errand, why should we not go together?" To this Coplinghee Ranee and the Dancing woman agreed, so they all three continued their journey together through the jungle.

On, on, on they went, every day further and further; they never stayed to rest nor saw another human being. Their feet ached dreadfully and their clothes wore out, and they had nothing to live on but the jungle plants, wild berries and seeds. So weary and worn did they become that they looked like three poor old beggar women. Never had they by night-time sleep nor by day-time rest; and so, hour after hour, month after month, year after year, they traveled on.

At last one day they came to where, in the midst of the jungle, there rolled a great river of fire. It was the biggest river they had ever seen, and made of flames instead of water. There was no one on this side and no one on that--no way of getting across but by walking through the fire.

When Coplinghee Ranee and the Nautch woman saw this, they said, "Alas! here is the end of all our pains and trouble. All hope is over, for we can go no farther." But the Sowkar's wife answered, "Shall we be deterred by this after having come so far? Nay, rather seek a way across the fire." And so saying, she stepped into the fire waves; the others, however, were afraid, and would not go. When the Sowkar's wife had half crossed the river of fire, she turned, and waving her hands toward them, said, "Come on, come on, do not be afraid. The fire does not burn me. I go to find Mahdeo; perhaps he is on the other side."[96] But they still refused, saying, "We cannot come, but we will wait here until your return; and if you find Mahdeo, pray for us also, that we may have children."

[96] See Notes at the end.

So the Sowkar's wife went on her way, and the fire-waves lapped round her feet as if they had been water, but they did not hurt her.

When she reached the other side of the river she came upon a great wilderness, full of wild elephants, and bison, and lions, and tigers, and bears, that roared and growled on every side. But she did not turn back for fear of them, for she said to herself, "I can but die once, and it is better that they should kill me than that I should return without finding Mahdeo." And all the wild beasts allowed her to pass through the midst of them and did her no harm.

Now it came to pass that Mahdeo looked down from heaven and saw her, and when he saw her he pitied her greatly, for she had been twelve years wandering upon the face of the earth to find him. Then he caused a beautiful mango tree, beside a fair well, to spring up in the desert to give her rest and refreshment, and he himself, in the disguise of a Gosain Fakeer, came and stood by the tree. But the Sowkar's wife would not stay to gather the fruit or drink the water; she did not so much as notice the Fakeer, but walked straight on in her weary search for Mahdeo. Then he called after her, "Bai, Bai, where are you going? Come here." She answered, scarcely looking at him, "It matters not to you, Fakeer, where I am going. You tell your prayer-beads and leave me alone." "Come here," he cried; "come here." But she would not, so Mahdeo went and stood in front of her, no longer disguised as a Fakeer, but shining brightly, the Lord of Kylas[97] in all his beauty, and at the sight of him the poor Sowkar's wife fell down on the ground and kissed his feet, and he said to her, "Tell me, Bai, where are you going?" She answered, "Sir, I seek Mahdeo, to pray him to grant that I may have a child, but for twelve years I have looked for him in vain." He said, "Seek no further, for I am Mahdeo; take this mango," and he gathered one off the tree that grew by the well, "and eat it, and it shall come to pass that when you return home you shall have a child." Then she said, "Sir, three women came seeking you, but two stayed by the river of fire, for they were afraid; may not they also have children?"

[97] The Hindoo heaven.

"If you will," he answered, "you may give them some of your mango, and then they also will each have a child."

So saying, he faded from her sight, and the Sowkar's wife returned glad and joyful, through the wilderness and the river of fire, to where the Ranee and the Dancing woman were waiting for her on the other side. When they saw her, they said, "Well, Sowkar's wife, what news?" She answered, "I have found Mahdeo, and he has given me this mango, of which if we eat we shall each have a child." And she took the mango, and squeezing it gave the juice to the Ranee, and the skin she gave to the Nautch woman, and the pulp and the stone she ate herself.

Then these three women returned to their own homes; Coplinghee Ranee and the Dancing woman to the Madura Tinivelly country, and the Sowkar's wife to very, very far beyond that, even the land where her husband lived, and whence she had first started on her journey.

But on their return all their friends only laughed at them, and the Sowkar said to his wife, "I cannot see much good in your mad twelve-years' journey; you only come back looking like a beggar, and all the world laughs at you."

"I don't care," she answered; "I have seen Mahdeo and eaten of the mango, and I shall have a child."

And within a little while it came to pass that there was born to the Sowkar and his wife a little son, and on the very same day Coplinghee Ranee had a daughter and the Nautch woman had a daughter.

Then were they all very happy, and sent everywhere to tell their friends the good news; and each gave, according to her power, a great feast to the poor as a thank-offering to Mahdeo, who had been merciful to them. And the Sowkar's wife called her son "Koila,"[98] in memory of the mango stone; and the Nautch woman called her daughter "Moulee;"[99] and the little Princess was named Chandra Bai,[100] for she was as fair and beautiful as the white moon.

[98] He of the mango stone.

[99] From the sweet mango pulp.

[100] The Moon Lady.

Chandra Ranee was very beautiful, the most beautiful child in all that country, so pretty and delicately made that everybody, when they saw her, loved her. She was born, moreover, with, on her ankles, two of the most costly anklets that ever were seen. They were made of gold and very precious stones, dazzling to look at, like the sun. No one had ever seen any like them before. Every day, as the baby grew, these bangles grew, and round them were little bells, which tinkled when any one came near. Chandra's parents were very happy and proud, and sent for all the wise men in the kingdom to tell her fortune. But the most learned Brahmin of them all, when he saw her, said, "This child must be sent out of the country at once, for if she stays in it she will destroy all the land with fire, and burn it utterly."

The Rajah, at hearing these words, was very angry, and said to the Brahmin, "I will cut off your head, for you tell lies and not the truth." The Brahmin answered, "Cut off my head if you will, but it is the truth I speak, and no lie. If you do not believe me, let a little wool be fetched, and put it upon the child, that you may know my words are true."

So they fetched some wool and laid it upon the baby, and no sooner had they done so than it all blazed up and burnt till not a bit was left, and it scorched the hands of the attendants.

Then the Brahmin said, "As this fire has burnt the wool, so will this Princess one day, if she comes here, burn this whole land." And they were all very much frightened, and the Rajah said to the Ranee, "This being so, the child must be sent out of the country instantly." The poor Ranee thereat was very sad, and she did all in her power to save her little baby, but the Rajah would not hear of it, and commanded that the Princess should be placed in a large box, and taken to the borders of his land, where a great river rolled down to the sea, and there thrown into the stream, that it might carry her far, far away, each minute farther from her native land.[101] Then the Ranee caused a beautiful golden box to be made, and put her little baby in it with many tears (since all her efforts to save it were of no avail), and it was taken away and thrown into the river.

[101] See Notes at the end.

The box floated on, and on, and on, until at last it reached the country where the Sowkar and the Sowkar's wife lived. Now it chanced that, just as the box was floating by, the Sowkar, who had gone down to the river to wash his face, caught sight of it, and seeing a Fisherman not far off prepared to throw his net into the water, he cried, "Run, Fisherman, run, run; do not stop to fish, but cast your net over that glittering box and bring it here to me."

"I will not, unless you promise me that the box shall be mine," said the Fisherman. "Very well," answered the Sowkar, "the box shall be yours, and whatever it contains shall belong to me."

So the Fisherman cast his net in that part of the river and dragged the box ashore.

I don't know which was most astonished--the Merchant or the Fisherman--when they saw what a prize they had found. For the box was composed entirely of gold and precious stones, and within it lay the most lovely little child that ever was seen.

She seemed a little Princess, for her dress was all made of cloth of gold, and on her feet were two anklets that shone like the sun.

When the Sowkar opened the box, she smiled; and stretched out her little arms toward him. Then he was pleased, and said, "Fisherman, the box is yours, but this child must belong to me." The Fisherman was content that it should be so, for he had many children of his own at home, and wanted no more, but was glad to have the golden box; while the Sowkar, who had only his one little son and was rich, did not care for the box, but was well pleased to have the baby.

He took her home to his wife, and said, "See, wife, here is a pretty little daughter-in-law for us. Here is a wife for your little son." And when the Sowkar's wife saw the child looking so beautiful and smiling so sweetly, her heart was glad and she loved her, and from that day took the greatest care of her, just as if the baby girl had been her own daughter. And when Chandra Ranee was a year old they married her to their son, Koila.

Years wore on, and the Sowkar and his wife were in a good old age gathered to their fathers. Meantime, Koila and Chandra had grown up the handsomest couple in all the country: Koila tall and straight, with a face like a young lion, and Chandra as lithe and graceful as a palm tree, with a face calm and beautiful like the silver moonlight.

Meantime Moulee, the Nautch woman's daughter (and third of the mango children), had likewise grown up in the Madura Tinivelly country, and was also very fair--fairer than any one in all the land around. Moreover, she danced and sang more beautifully than any of the other Nautch girls. Her voice was clear as the voice of a quail, and it rang through the air with such power that the sound could be heard a twelve-days' journey off. The Nautch people used to travel about from place to place, staying one day in one town and the next in another, and so it happened that in their wanderings they reached the borders of the land where Koila and Chandra lived.

One morning Koila heard the sound of singing in the distance, and it pleased him so well that he determined to try and discover who it was that possessed such an exquisite voice. For twelve days he journeyed on through the jungle, each day hearing the singing repeated louder and louder, yet still without reaching the place whence it came. At last, on the twelfth day, he got close to the Nautch people's encampment, not far from a large town, and there saw the singer (who was none other than Moulee), singing and dancing in the midst of a great crowd of people who had collected around her. In her hand she held a garland of flowers, which she waved over her head as she danced.

Koila was so charmed with the sound of her voice that he felt spell-bound, and stood where he was, far off on the outskirts of the jungle, listening, without going any nearer.

When the entertainment was over, all the people crowded round Moulee, saying, "Why should you, who have such a beautiful voice, go away and leave our city? Marry one of us, and then you will stay here always." Then, the number of her suitors being so great that she did not know whom to choose, she said, "Very well; he on whose neck this garland falls shall be my husband." And waving the flowers she held two or three times round her head, she threw them from her with her utmost force.