Chapter IV: Part 4

This is one of the tales, says Crooke, of the grateful Animal cycle, for which see Köhler and Crooke.

“_Sakhi._”—From the Arabic word, “sakhi,” meaning liberal, generous.

“_Kallundar._”—From the Arabic word, “kallundar,” a kind of monk who deserts the world, wife, and friends, and travels about with a shaven head and beard. They belonged to a sect of the Kadiri Fakirs, akin to the Sufis, and do not refuse to take “murids” or followers; but the Sufis only tolerate them.

“_Ātā._”—A Hindustani word, meaning flour, or meal.

“_Chāpāti._”—Also a Hindustani word, meaning thin cakes of unleavened bread.

“_Snake and small lump of gold._”—“Old Folk-lore.” See Crooke’s reference to Pipa the Brahmin, who gave offerings of milk to a serpent on the banks of the Sampu, or “Snake Lake,” and was rewarded daily by the serpent with two pieces of gold. In “Chinese Folk-lore” (Dennys) the Emperor Hoti found a wounded serpent in his path, and having cured and released it, was rewarded by a carbuncle of exceeding brightness which the snake brought to him. The belief is, however, common to many races, and the superstition has been extended to toads and fish, and even to horses. Serpent worship is akin to this, but this subject is too elaborate to refer to here.

“_Panj Pir._”—“Panj” is the Persian for Five, as the five fingers, and with the Shiah Mahomedans it is a standard, and the extended hand is carried on a pole during the Mahomedan Mohurrum Festival. As also the Panjutun which are the five holy persons amongst Moslems, viz., Mahomed, Ali, Fatima, Hasan, and Hussain. Sentences from the Qorān are repeated at this festival, and the Fakirs and others call out in chorus, “Yahoo! Yahoo!” the Arabic for “Jehovah,” He who is; He who exists. (See Qanoon-i-Islam.)

“_Dwelling beneath the River._”—This prevails widely through the folk-lore of many countries. Moore in his “Manx Folk-lore” has a long article upon “Dwellings under the Sea,” splendid cities, towers, gilded minarets, and so forth.

“_Wells._”—In the original it is “Kooh,” in Sanscrit “Kooā,” in Persian “Chāh.” These are wells from whence the water has to be obtained by lowering a cord or rope. A well into which people descend by steps to get water is termed “Bāolī,” from the Hindustani language.

In some of the “Koohs” it is a practice to place during winter, frozen snow, and when this melts in the summer months, it is drawn out and sold as “Aseah” water, and is much appreciated.

It is considered by the people to be a good action to build a well for the general use of travellers, and a still further work of merit to build a tank, for then both animals and birds can also enjoy the benefit.

There are many witty sayings in regard to wells, but one or two must suffice from this district.

In giving advice to another about to take an important step, the saying is:

Têk thrup nâl kooh deh vitch viso
Hazah thrup nal na asô.

TRANSLATED THUS:

One jump will take you into a well, but a thousand will not take
you out of it.

If one wishes to say that another has laid a trap and got caught himself, the saying is:

Châ Khundah, Châ derpesh.

TRANSLATED THUS:

If you dig a well for another, you will fall into it yourself.

_Note._—In the 12th century there actually lived a saint called “Sakhi Sarwar,” whose real name was Sayyid Ahmad. His father is said to have been a native of Baghdad. In another legend he is represented as a disciple of the celebrated Pir Dastagir of Baghdad. Close to the tomb of this saint is a shrine to Baba Nanak, the founder of Sikhism, and a temple to Vishnu.—_Crooke._

It may be that the “Sakhi” of this tale refers to this saint.

“'_Sakhi’s’ grief under torture._”—A common saying amongst the people to express the fact that no one is without suffering is thus given in part Persian:

Darin duneâh kussay bê ghrun nebashad Agar barhad, to bunsie
Adam nabashad.

THUS TRANSLATED:

In this world no living mortal is without grief; if such an one
perchance there should be, then he is not of the sons of
Adam.

_Further Note as to Snakes._—There are several kinds of snakes known in the district by snake-charmers, but some of the most important are as follows. First and foremost is the well-known Cobra; one is called Kooruj; another Mushkee, of a black colour; a third Chujlup, or hooded, from the hood being like Chuj, or a winnowing basket; a fourth is termed Kukkur, also a hooded snake, but of a light colour.

Of miscellaneous snakes there are Batung, Bhullard, and the Theer-Maâr, a small snake found in the roofs of houses. Another has a spotted body, is small, and has a broad head; this is called Phissee, or Kurnndâwah. Another is the Sangchūr, a snake of most rapid movement, having a dark body, very glossy skin, with white spots here and there. Of this snake the charmers stand in great dread, for it is instant death to be bitten by it.

To show how deadly this is, they say that the snake calls out, “Get out of my way, for fall you must at once, and I don’t want you to fall on me.”

Snakes, as has been already said, are worshipped by Hindus, and the Cobra is a special object of worship, as being intimately connected with many of their idols and deities, especially by the worshippers of the Lingam, the form under which Siva is worshipped, the most bigoted perhaps of all Hindu sects.

When the child of a Hindu is suffering from a disease called Sokrâh, or Sūkh-Chari (atrophy), or wasting away, it is usual to have it washed under a Cobra, and the water thus falling over the snake on to the child is believed to have healing properties.

The well-known “Bezoar” stone (from the Persian words “zahr,” poison, and “pād” against, a concretion found in the stomachs of goats or antelopes), for the cure of snake poison, and is called in the district “Zahr Muhra”; and again to cure dogs of distemper it is a common practice to wash them with the cast skins of snakes, called Khainchillee. It may be added here that snakes, it is said, can be killed with snuff thrown into their eyes and mouth.

Some have doubted whether it could be possible for snakes to be charmed, especially as many naturalists have asserted that the greater part of them are deaf. The Authors can, however, certify to the fact that hooded snakes can be brought under the spell of a shrill musical pipe even when in concealment. The pipe the Indian snake-charmers use is called a “Tunbi;” or by some a “Banshī” or flute is used.

However, to continue this subject might as we have before said, lead us into Ophiolatry, which is outside the scope of these Explanatory Notes; but we may say this, that the change of skin by the Serpent has no doubt been easily associated by some minds, with the springing up of a fresh life, or an endless existence; and so has been one of the means towards the worship of this Reptile.

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THE PRIEST, THE WASHERMAN, AND THE ASS.

There lived, many years ago, in the city of Azimgurh, in the north-west of India, a Moslem Priest, or “Moola,” who, as is usual with that class, added to his income by teaching the Mahomedan youths of the place.

By chance an old Washerman, or “Dhobī,” and his wife while travelling homewards came to the city, and put up under a tree adjoining the Mosque where the Priest lived, and tied their ass to the tree. The old couple were rich, but were unfortunately childless.

Some time during the day of their arrival, they caught a glimpse of a man who was gesticulating before the Priest in a tone of violent complaint, and they could not help hearing all that he said: “You are the Priest,” he called out, “and I have paid you all the fees you asked, but you have taught my son nothing at all, and every day he is either idling or playing about in the dusty roads with other worthless urchins.” Upon this the Priest became greatly enraged, and retorted, “Not taught him anything! It is false; he has been educated like the rest.”

“Yah Yah ka kulma partraya
Gudhê sê admi bunaya.”

Which means, “I have taught him the creed of Yah Yah, or of the righteous ones, and though he came to me an Ass I have made him into a man. You ungrateful wretch! I will have nothing further to say to him, and you may take him out of the school.” Upon this the man left the Priest and went away down the road.

The ignorant old Washerman and his equally old and ignorant wife having been silent listeners of all this conversation, put their heads together, and began to talk of what they had heard. The Washerman said to his wife, “Did you not hear the Priest say that he had changed an ‘ass’ into ‘a man,’ and you know Priests can do wonderful things! I am just thinking that if he could work a change in our ‘ass’ and make out of him a ‘son’ for us, what a blessing it would be! For we have only this one thing short of being completely happy.” The old wife eagerly caught at the idea, and replied, “Yes! Allah has given us much wealth, but what good will it be to us when we die; strangers will get it; but if we had a son he would inherit it, and our cup of joy on earth would be full to the brim. Let us go to the Priest, and make a bargain with him, that the curse of having no son may no longer rest upon us.”

Whereupon they both sought an audience of the Priest, and approaching him, said, “Oh Sir! we are both very old, as you see, but we have plenty of money; but Sir, saddest of all things to tell you is that we are childless. Now Sir, we overheard you say that you had transformed an ass into a man. We have an ass, but we have not a son; would you be so good as to change him for us, and we will give you any sum that you like to name.”

The Priest was struck all of a heap with surprise and astonishment at this preposterous request, he said nothing for some minutes, but simply stared at the aged old couple while he collected his thoughts. “These people must clearly have heard me speaking angrily to the father of the worthless scholar, and have taken my words altogether in a literal sense, but here is evidently a run of luck for me which must not be thrown away.” Thus he soliloquised, and the old couplet fixed itself in his thoughts,

Gân kê pooreh-get muth ki heenay
Khuda tujhê deta-mai leta keunnahin.

TRANSLATION.

These are rich in purse but weak in intellect;
Allah gives you the chance, why should you not take it?

Then after this little pause he turned to them and said, “I have been considering what is best to be done for you. To comply with your request is indeed a difficult task, though not impossible. If you will tie your ass to that tree, and come to me a year hence, you shall have a son, for it will take all that time to make so complete a transformation. Give me now therefore one thousand rupees, and go back to your home, and be sure you return to me punctually in a year’s time.”

The old people were only too pleased to close with the Priest, so they paid him the money, tied the ass to the tree, wished him a hearty farewell, and went on their journey homewards.

When a year had elapsed the old Washerman and his wife, with their hearts bounding with delight at the prospect of welcoming a son and heir, started on their travels again to meet the Priest, and in due time arrived at the Mosque.

“We have come, Sir,” they said, “according to promise, to claim our son.” The Priest replied, “You are indeed a couple of old fools; if you had been true to your time and had come a week ago you would have seen him; but now, owing to his great learning, he has been appointed the “Kazi” (Doctor of Mahomedan Law) at Jaunpūr.”

The Priest had hit upon this ruse, and had determined to play off a joke on this Kazi of whom he was extremely jealous.

“But,” replied the old couple, getting alarmed, “how is it possible that he will recognise us unless you accompany us?” “Don’t distress yourselves; I cannot go, but if you will take this rope with which you always tethered your ass, and the ‘Tobrâ’ or nose-bag in which the ass had his grain, and go to Jaunpūr all your difficulties will vanish. Time your arrival in the city on a Friday at the hour of prayer in the Mosque. You will see a large concourse of people being addressed by your son, who was, you know, your ‘ass.’ Put yourselves in a position where the Kazi can plainly see you, then keep shaking the rope and the nose-bag, and he will soon discover who you are, and come and claim you as his father and mother.

So off they went to the city of Jaunpūr, reached it on a Friday, and went straight to the Mosque, placed themselves in a conspicuous part of the outer building within sight of the Kazi, and began, with a vengeance, to whisk before him the nose-bag and the rope.

In a very short time the Kazi noticed this strange proceeding, and sent one of the congregation to find out the cause, but they told him to tell the Kazi that they had a profound secret which could only be told to the Kazi himself and to no other mortal.

The Kazi, impelled by curiosity, asked permission of his audience for a few moments of leave, and then taking the old couple aside, he begged of them to tell him the reason of their strange behaviour. With bated breath, and with the deepest earnestness did the old Washerman and his wife pour into the Kazi’s ears the whole of the strange story of his having once been their ass: how for years they had overloaded him with kindness, and never spared the cudgel when he had been obstinate; how they deeply regretted their conduct towards one now so exalted as they saw their son to be; how, but for the wonderful power of the Priest of Azimgurh such a blessing would never have come to them; and how their cup of happiness was now complete.

The Kazi at once took in the situation, and saw the plot that his arch enemy had so cleverly planned against him, and being a wise man he thought to himself, “If I repudiate this absurd story, in the belief of which these ignorant people have bound up their lives, it will be sure to be published abroad, to my own annoyance, and from being respected I shall be mocked and turned into ridicule, and in fact be the laughingstock of the place. I am resolved what to do; I will quietly acquiesce in what they say, and so get rid of them.” Turning to the old couple he said, “Yes; it is all too true, and from henceforth your interests are my interests, your good name is identical with mine, and I will carry it on. But let me bind you by all that you hold sacred that you never breathe a word of this marvellous change that has taken place in my being and existence. If you never reveal this secret, I will be a dutiful son to you all my life.”

This the old Washerman and his wife agreed to abide by in every iota, only stipulating that when they died, which in the course of nature was not far off, he would be present to see them interred according to Mahomedan rites. This the Kazi on his part faithfully promised to do, and the old couple took their departure to their own home with every expression of joy and delight, and left all their money to him when they died.

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EXPLANATORY NOTES.

“_Azimgurh._”—“Azim” is the Arabic for great, and is used wherever Moslems have spread, in names of towns and in titles, such as Azimgurh, Azimpur, or Azim-us-Shan, meaning splendid.—_Balfour._

“_Kazi._”—From the Arabic, and means a judge or justice—one who determines and decrees in Mahomedan law.

In days long gone by the ruling of the Kazi was thought more absolute than it is now, and there was then no appeal from his judgment. As a class they were greatly respected, though some were believed to be able to read the law pretty much as it suited them.

The natives tell a story of one of these old Kazis who had two favourite sons, named Juttoo and Juttal, and during a severe famine these lads were seen to be eating the flesh of an animal that had died a natural death, which is strictly contrary to the Mahomedan law. The complaint was made to the Kazi of the evil example they had set to the people, but he, willing to screen them, enquired of the deputation what the animal was. They replied, “Kotha” (an ass). “And what colour might it have been?” he further asked. They replied, “Chitta” (white). Then making a pretence of hunting up several of his law books, he said, “I find an exception here in the case of a white ass, and I therefore thus decree:

Julloo and Jullal
Chitta kotha Hullal.

TRANSLATION.

To Julloo and Jullal
The white ass is judged lawful.”

From the earliest times, the White Ass (Albino) has been reserved for the use of those who might be highly honoured. In Hindustani the Ass is termed a Gudhā and is of the same breed as those domesticated from the original African Ass. They are used in India mostly by Dhobī's, and a homeless race called the “Yerkala,” and it is said they cripple their hind legs to prevent them straying. Most of these Asses have one disposition, that they are averse to crossing a stream of water.

For the transformation of men into animals and vice-versâ, see Crooke’s “Popular Folk Lore of Northern India.” This metamorphosis is common throughout the whole range of Folk-lore: thus, in one of Somadeva’s tales, a man is turned into an Ox, in another his wife transforms him into a Buffalo, in a third the angry hermit turns the King into an Elephant.

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AKBAR AND HIS MINISTER.

In the great and glorious days of the Badshah Akbar (Emperor), he had a very favourite minister of the name of Bīrbal. This minister was without doubt the ablest statesman at the Court, and no State question was decided without reference to him.

Some say he was also a general in the army, and that by his skill he greatly assisted Akbar to extend his dominions. Bīrbal was, however, a Hindu, a Brāhman of the tribe of Bhât, and his real name was Mahes Dās, but so tolerant was “Akbar Badshah” to all religious sects that if a man were wise and skilful he cared not of what faith he might happen to be. Bīrbal was also full of wit and humour, and had such a pleasing way of putting things, that he could talk to the Badshah in a manner that other ministers would not dare to do.

It so happened, however, that one day he unwittingly gave offence to the Badshah, and so enraged did Akbar become that Bīrbal, fearing his wrath, fled the country. Disguising himself as a Fakir, he begged his way from village to village, and at last settled down on the extreme frontier of the Badshah’s empire.

Days and months passed by, and the Badshah began to feel more and more the loss of his once favourite minister, and though himself searching in the villages near at hand, and making diligent enquiries everywhere, he failed to discover the slightest trace of him.

Crushed by grief and broken-hearted, he at last called a council of his ministers, and stated to them how much he missed the presence about him of his old attached friend Bīrbal. They, perhaps somewhat jealous of his pre-eminence in the mind of the Badshah, seemed to be callous and indifferent as to his fate. Whereupon the Badshah became as enraged with them as he had before been with Bīrbal, and threatened to decapitate them if his hiding-place were not soon discovered, and the runaway brought back to him.

The ministers and nobles in their alarm, at last hit upon an expedient which they submissively laid before the Badshah.

They said, “Oh Badshah! If an order is given throughout the Empire of so senseless and foolish a nature that it will be impossible for any of your Majesty’s subjects to comply with it, there is just a chance that we may be able to find out the place of concealment of the ever terse and humorous Bīrbal.”

The Badshah listened to their suggestion, told them to act up to it, but under any circumstances, and at the cost of their heads if they failed, Bīrbal must be brought ere long into the Presence.

Accordingly an edict went forth calling upon the “Headman” of every village in the Dominions, on pain of death, to bring the principal “well” of the village to do obeisance to the King’s “well” at the Palace. The edict was entrusted to horsemen who conveyed it to every village in the Empire.

The whole country was filled with lamentation and distress, for it was seen to be impossible to conform to the order of the Badshah.

When the proclamation reached the village where Bīrbal was in hiding, he shared in the sorrow around him, and bethought him of a way of escape for the people, but he was known to them only as a Fakir.

At last he said to the Headman of his village, “Take with you some of your principal tenants, and go to the outside of the Badshah’s Palace; then send a messenger within the Palace, to say that in obedience to the order of the Badshah you have brought your ‘well’ without the walls, and that it is ready to do obeisance to the King’s ‘well.’ Say also that as it is the custom of the country for the elder brother to advance to meet the younger, that as soon as your ‘well’ sees the King’s ‘well’ approaching to it through the gates of the city, it will without delay rise to pay its respect, and accompany it back to the Palace.”

This they did exactly as the disguised Fakir, Bīrbal, had told them. Arriving at the outside of the city walls they deputed the most intelligent man of their party to present himself before the Emperor.

The Emperor was seated on his “Peacock Throne,” or “Takht-e-Taoos,” having on the right of the Throne a courtier carrying the “Golden Hand” to keep off the Evil Eye, and known as “Punjah,” from its having five fingers extended; and upon the left another courtier, bearing the emblem of the Fish, termed in Arabic the “Mahee-Moorâtib,” the badge of dignity and success.

The Messenger advanced to the Throne and stated his mission to the Emperor, and ended by saying that the “well” of his village was without the city walls, waiting to receive the King’s “well.”

The Emperor was baffled for the time, and then turning to one of his ministers, he directed him to visit the delegates beyond the walls. The minister went, and at once returned, saying that the reply to the Badshah’s order and to the proclamation, given with such sagacity and wit, could come, he thought, from no other than the absent minister. This the Emperor was ready to credit, and a clue being thus obtained, the ministers formed a party and proceeded to the village, where after some little time, they succeeded in discovering Bīrbal in the austere garb of a mendicant Fakir.

Surprised and powerless, he was conveyed back to the city, and to the Royal Presence, and the Emperor came forward to receive him; and then after a few formal greetings the Emperor ordered a robe of honour to be brought and put upon him, and he was again promoted to his position and rank at the Court.

It was not long after this that the country was at war again with the Pathans and tribes in the “Bunēr” Mountains. Bīrbal was given the chief command, and here in one of the first engagements he was unfortunately killed, but his name still lives amongst us as the most able and witty minister that the Badshah Akbar had ever called to his councils.

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EXPLANATORY NOTES.

“_Akbar and Bīrbal._”—Both Akbar and Bīrbal have their place in history, about A.D. 1586, and doubtless this tale is told amongst many others current in India in order to keep in memory the wit and humour of Akbar’s most favourite minister. It is not old folk-lore, but finds a place here as oral tradition on the Indus, in the valley of which river Akbar was born.

“_Bīrbal._”—Another tale is told of the same minister who when tauntingly asked by the Emperor Akbar why he did not make an effort to turn all Moslems into Hindus, replied, “Oh King! that is too serious a question to answer off-hand, but give me time and I will tell you why.”

Hearing some days afterwards that the Emperor was going down to the riverside Bīrbal contrived to have a man vigorously washing and lathering a donkey with soap. “See here,” said the Emperor, “here is a novel sight!” “Yes,” replied Bīrbal, “and a very good reply too to the question your Majesty put to me the other day. We believe that Hindus are to Mahomedans as horses are to jackasses, and you see, your Majesty, that all the washing and lathering in the world will not make the donkey into a horse, neither can I by any power that I possess transform a Moslem into a Hindu.”

Yet another tale is current on the Indus, intended to perpetuate the wit and wisdom of Bīrbal.

One day the Emperor begged of his minister to solve the problem of there being so many religious sects in the Kingdom, such as the “Roshan.”[5] Bīrbal, it is said, took the Emperor to a large hall, supported by many pillars all similar, but one of which only was of fine gold. There was but a dim light in the hall, and without it, was a large concourse of people. Bīrbal addressed them and said, “You know that all the pillars are much of a shape, but one is of gold; who shall discover this? Let me see.”

Footnote 5:

A Heresy under “Bayazid,” who set aside the Qorān, and the many
divisions amongst the Hindus.

In an instant there was a rush for the hall, and in a little time when light was thrown on the scene, each pillar had its man clutching it in strong embrace, but only Bīrbal knew that which was of gold.

“Behold, oh King!” he said “the scramble for the prize; so it is in the world around us: all rush and divide off into sects to lay hold of the prop and support of immortal happiness, each in the firm belief of exclusive possession. It will only be when the true Light shines, that the Deity who alone has the secret shall pronounce the reward.”

There is a class of Hindu boatmen of Attock who keep themselves entirely apart from the other boatmen who are Mahomedans.

They are called Mullâhs, from the Arabic and meaning boatmen, and their tradition is that their ancestors were brought up to Attock by Akbar from further south, as being skilful oarsmen.

Another local legend at Attock is that the native engineer who made the plans for the old fort had his hands cut off by the native Rajah, lest he should design another for an enemy; and this is current in Ghazi to this day.

With reference to the extended hand to keep off the Evil Eye, and carried as an emblem on the right of Akbar’s throne, it should be stated here also that it is often carried on a pole by Mahomedans of the Shiah sect during the Maharram. It is often imprinted too on huts and houses for the same purpose.

The standard of the fish, or in the Persian, “Mahee-Moorâtib,” conveys special honours to princes and nobles. “Mahee” in Persian means Fish; the Fish on which the earth is supposed to rest. The word “Moorâtib” is from the Arabic “Martibah” and means Dignity and Honour.

“The Fish is the vehicle of “Kwâja Khizr,” the water god, and hence has become a sort of totem of Shiah Mahomedans, and the crest of the late Royal Family of Oudh.”—_Crooke._

Pictures of fish are often drawn on houses as a charm against demoniacal influence, and we know, that the “Matse Avatar,” represents the incarnation of Vishnu in the form of a Fish; and emblematic also of the Deluge.

There are many expedients resorted to, to keep off the Evil Eye, amongst others, iron rings, precious stones, colours (particularly red and yellow), the triangle of equal sides, and pots and chattis, or earthenware pots, smeared with lime. The triangle might possibly be traced to the three Genii, or Hindu Triad, seated in a triangle, or “Tricuta.”[6]

Footnote 6:

In the abode of the departed, said to have been seen by Thespesius of
Soli.—Purânâs. When the apex of the triangle points downwards Kishnu
is symbolized, if upwards it is the symbol of Siva.

Armlets to the same intent, and called “Tawiz,” from the Arabic word, Auz, “fleeing to God for protection,” are in constant use, as a charm, and it would seem that the Jews recognized the same practice, possibly from the command in Deuteronomy xi. 18.

To speak in praise of a child to its face before the parent is to call up the Evil Eye, and is a cause of much alarm. If unwittingly done by a friend, the parent will ask him to spit in his hand in order to take off the spell.

A particular woodpecker, called the Babeeâh, has an evil spell and is dreaded on account of its bringing heavy rains, to the injury of agriculture, and in a village called Vasnal the farmers and villagers all turned out and drove it from the district, and the rain, they say, at once stopped.

Very often, in a large melon field there are placed one or two black chattis, so that the eye of passers-by may rest on these first, before they see the melons, and so take off any evil spell.

We may add here what is not generally known, that the Emperor Akbar, who gave the greatest encouragement to literary accomplishments, appointed Bīrbal to be the Royal poet under the name of “Katrāe.” None of the poems he wrote have, as far as we know, been preserved by Abul-Fazl or others, but we presume that they would have been of the usual figurative type of those days, as for instance the comparing of the narcissus flower to the eye, and the feeble stem of that plant bending over with the weight of the flower, to the languor of the eyes. Pearls again signifying tears or teeth, and the lips to carnations or rubies, while the gums are said to be as the flower of the pomegranate tree, and the dark foliage of the myrtle, is thought to be like the dark hair of the one beloved; or again the eye is said to be like a sword, and the eyelids scabbards, the white complexion to be like crystals of camphor, while the musk plant is said to betoken a beauty spot on the face. (See _Hughes_.)

“_Peacock Throne._”—This was studded with valuable diamonds and precious stones, and was considered to be worth seven millions of money.

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THE RAJAH, HIS MINISTER, AND THE SHEPHERD.

There lived many years ago a great Rajah in a country far away from our village; and he was a very enlightened and clever man, and used to travel about to add to his information and knowledge.

On one of his journeys he met a man who told him that there was at no very great distance off, a city where everyone was wise, from the King on the throne to the poorest beggar in the street.

“That is impossible,” said the Rajah, but the man persisted in the truth of his statement, and said, “If you do not believe me go and see for yourself.” This the Rajah had determined in his own mind to do, but for the present he returned to his own Palace.

Calling for his favourite minister he told him of what he had heard, and said, “I should much like to visit that city, and acquire some further experience and wisdom; for knowledge, I find, can only come from what one sees; and you must accompany me on my travels;” to which the minister readily assented.

Conversing again together some few days afterwards, they began to arrange about the time and manner of going. “It will not do, oh King!” said the minister, “for your rank and title to be known, nor indeed for me to appear as your Vizier. We must throw a veil over all this, and go in disguise, or we shall never succeed in getting to know the wisdom of this wonderful people and city. Let us go as respectable travellers only; then we shall be able to go in and out of the streets without anyone molesting us.”

This idea pleased the Rajah, so they had some dresses secretly prepared, and on a propitious day they took their departure from the Palace. The Rajah knew the road, and in a few days they reached the spot where he had met the man who gave him this piece of news. “From hence,” he said to his Vizier, “the city cannot be far, for the man assured me it was at no great distance from where we are now standing.”

They pushed on, and in two or three days a city, surrounded by a high wall, was in full view before them. “This,” said the Rajah, “is sure to be the place, for it has an air of solidity about it. See! there are gates to go in and out of it!”

Before, however, venturing into the city, the travellers sat down to rest on a little mound of grass just outside the walls. They got into conversation together, and observed a shepherd, or “Ajuree,” who was grazing his goats and sheep very close to where they had sat down. The Rajah said to his minister, or Vizier, “I should like to put to you four questions, just to sharpen our wits a bit.”

The narrator of the tale then turned, and said to his hearers, “You know that the shepherd is of all classes the most stupid and ignorant; he takes his goats and sheep each morning into the jungles, tends and feeds and guards them, and before night-fall he returns with them to the city; so he hears no information, and has no means of picking up knowledge of any kind.”

The Rajah then, within hearing of the Shepherd, of whom he took no apparent concern, propounded his questions as follows to the minister:

“My first question is: Of all lights, which, say you, is the best light?” “Well,” replied the minister, “that is not difficult to answer, for there is no light equal to that of the sun which is indeed the centre of all light.” “Now for my second question,” said the Rajah. “Of all waters, which is the best water?” “That again is of simple solution, for what water can be compared to that from the Ganges? for in life we Hindus worship it, and at death, when put into our mouths, it insures to us mercy at the last.” “Very good: now I come to my third question. Of all sleep, which is the best sleep?” to which the minister replied, “What sleep can be more refreshing than to recline on a soft couch after a fatiguing day?” “Now,” said the Rajah, “for my fourth and last question. Of all flowers, which is the best flower?” “This,” replied the minister, “requires little thought, for the “Gul,” or rose, has been the favourite flower from all ages; it is beautiful to look at, and has the sweetest of all perfumes.”

After the Rajah had finished his interrogations he overheard the Shepherd laughing aloud, and he thought he caught the word “fool,” so he turned to him and asked, “What was that you said?” To which the Shepherd replied, “I was talking to my goats, and not to you.” “But you did say something referring to us; what was it?”

“Well,” returned the Shepherd, “I do not mind telling you that I heard the questions you put to that man, whoever he is, and the silly replies he gave you. You asked him which was the best light, and he said the Sun. No, sir; the best light is that of your eyes, for what use is the Sun to you if you are blind? Again, you asked him which was the best water, and he replied, that from the Ganges, the beloved Ganges; but he should have said, the little store of water in a dry and thirsty land when the far-off Ganges would be of no avail. Then you asked him of the best sleep, and how foolish his reply! He should have said, the sleep of health, which will come to refresh you on whatever you may recline; and as to the last question, of the flower, he praised the “Gul” as the best of all, whereas he should have said, the flower of the cotton plant, for the rose fades and leaves no useful trace behind, but with the cotton plant we have both a beautiful and fragrant flower, and when that falls off, there succeeds a pod which supplies a substance from which we weave our cloth, to provide us and our descendants after us with necessary garments.”

As soon as the Shepherd had concluded this little speech the Rajah turned and thanked him; and then looking at his minister he said quietly, “What think you of that for an ignorant shepherd caught hap-hazzard near the place? And if he can make such fools of us both, who knows what may happen to us when we enter the city? What think you? Have we not had evidence enough of the wisdom of this people? So my advice is that we retrace our steps to our own country, and try and educate and improve our people, even as they have done.” To this the Vizier at once consented, and they journeyed homewards, wiser men than when they set out upon their expedition.

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EXPLANATORY NOTES.

“_Vizier._”—From the Arabic word, “Wuzir,” literally, a bearer of a burden. A Grand Vizier is the highest temporal dignitary in Mahomedan States. The title of “Wuzir” dates from the 8th Century and was conferred on the Chief Minister of the first Abbaside Califs, a dynasty which reigned at Baghdad from about A.D. 740 to 1,250, and they derived their name and descent from a paternal uncle of Mahomed.

“_Shepherd._”—The Hindustani word, and that in frequent use, is “Gadryā,” from “Gādar,” a sheep, but in the original the local word is “Ajuree,” Ajur being the term for flocks and herds, and “Ajuree” the caretaker.

The shepherds of this and many other districts are a simple-hearted set of men, owing not a little to the rustic kind of life they lead. In this district they possess some few sheep and goats of their own, but more frequently they graze the flocks of the neighbouring farmers. The dogs they have, usually two or three to each shepherd, are bred and trained in the district.

They are fierce and savage to strangers, but docile and obedient to their own masters, clever in protecting the flocks from wild animals, and in controlling their movements from place to place. They do not come at the call of a whistle, but at the shrill cry of “Toh! Toh!” several times repeated. The names they give them are generally after the colour of their hair. A black dog would be called “Kaldo” or “Kulwa.” A spotted dog would be “Dubboo.” A yellowish grey dog would be called “Gaindar,” and a reddish coated dog “Loha.” For dogs of a dark grey the term would be “Sauah,” and a white dog “Bugla,” after a crane of that colour. It is not an uncommon thing for a dog to be called “Motee,” a pearl. Some fine dogs, and standing over three feet in height, shaggy in coat, bushy tail, small ears and eyes, not fleet but powerful, are bred in the hills in the Kangra district. They are called “Gudhi” dogs, after a Hindu shepherd tribe.

These dogs will not live long in the plains. There is another fine hill dog bred in the country round about Chitral, as large as a good-sized Newfoundland, with a head like a mastiff, and long hair.

These Gudhi shepherds in the extreme winter come down to the lower ranges of hills, together with all their sheep and goats. The farmers are glad to let them pen their flocks on their fallow land for a few nights, the shepherd and his dogs being fed by the farmer, who receives more than his equivalent in the manure afforded by the flocks.

The shepherds for the most part carry a staff, with or without a crook, and by way of a solace they have a wind instrument, of music called an “Alghūza.” It is something in the shape of a piccolo, and usually to obtain the double notes they put two in the mouth at the same time. They also have sometimes a fife, called a “Bānsli” These are all made out of a hard wood, and sometimes from bamboo.

If you ask a shepherd why he grazes goats and sheep together, he replies that but for the nimble goats he would never get the sheep along. When a murrain breaks out amongst the goats, which it sometimes does, there is a class of men called “Unga” who inoculate the healthy goats behind the ear with a portion of the caul of the liver of one diseased, and this has the effect generally of stopping the spread of the disease.

To protect the flocks and herds at nights from the depredation of wild animals, the shepherds in the summer time raise a high ring fence of thorny bushes; in the winter they are housed at nights in the closed sheds.

The Indian Shepherds have a custom which is purely Asiatic, of preceding their flocks to pasture, as in the words of the Psalmist “He shall lead me beside the waters of comfort.” Most of the Nomad races in India are shepherds, and in Asia generally they were so. Moses herded the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, and David tended his father’s sheep.

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THE BANJĀRA, HIS DOG, AND THE BANKER.

Once upon a time there was a Banker, or “Sait,” who lived in a large city in Northern India, and being a man of great wealth was held in high repute by the Rajah and people of the place.

He had all the cunning of his class, and had amassed the most of his fortune by lending money at a high rate of interest, and by giving credit to men engaged in commerce.

One of his debtors was a “Banjāra,” or grain merchant who had owed him some money for a considerable time, and had paid neither interest nor any portion of that which he had borrowed. These Banjāras are well-known people all over India, where they are scattered in large and small communities. They are the possessors, you know, of herds of cattle, which they employ as pack animals to convey their goods and grain from place to place. It is interesting to meet them as they wend their way from one camping ground to another, headed by the leading bullock, which is called the “Guru Bail,” or “Sainted Bullock.” This bullock is ornamented in every direction; the horns and pack-saddle with cowry shells, bits of scarlet cloth, peacock’s feathers, and tassels of various colours, while its neck is encircled by a band of leather carrying tinkling bells of different sounds.

The Banjāra of this story was one day again obliged, on matters of business, to go to the city where his creditor, the banker, lived; so, to avoid meeting him, he encamped some distance off and then went singly and alone to the city, in the hope that he might not come across him; still he was haunted with the old native saying, oft repeated, “If you have not seen a tiger, then look at a cat, and if you do not want to see the Angel of death, then keep out of the way of your creditor.”

As ill luck would have it, however, he had no sooner got into the streets of the town than upon turning a corner he came face to face with the Banker, who instantly recognised him, and carried him off to his house, and demanded that immediate payment should be made. It was quite in vain for the poor Banjāra to sue for pity and forbearance, for the debt was an old one, and the Banker was both hard and unmerciful.

At last the Banjāra bethought him of an expedient and said, “Permit me to go to my encampment, and I will beg and borrow from my friends, and return to you with the money without fail in three days’ time.” “No, no,” said the Banker; “I cannot trust you again out of my sight, and by my influence here I could, you know, get you thrown into prison. If indeed I were merciful enough to let you go to your encampment for the money, I should require the very best security.” “I know no one in the city,” replied the Banjāra; “What can I do? Oh dear! what can I do? But wait a moment. Here is my best friend, my faithful dog, “Kaloo” (Kala is “black” in Sanscrit); “take him as my pledge and security that I will return and pay you all I owe.”

Now a Banjāra’s dog is of a breed well known in India; he is ready of resource and of wonderful sagacity, and obedient to the voice and gesture of his master in a very marked degree.

After some considerable demur the Banker at last consented to take the dog as security, and bringing a collar and chain to the Banjāra, he bid him tie up the dog in the yard of his house.

This the Banjāra did; then patting and caressing his dog he said, “Now, ‘Kaloo,’ remember you are not to leave this house until I come back to fetch you; if you run away you will disgrace my name, and I will never forgive you.”

After thus addressing his dog he made a hasty “salaam” to the Banker, and took his departure.

When the Banjāra had returned to his encampment he found the packs as he had left them, still under their awning of blankets, and as it was sun-down the cattle were being picketed in a circle round the packs, and the fires were ready for the night, while the dogs were roaming about outside on their usual guard over the camp.

Saluting his friends he said, “Now give me, please, a draught of water to drink,—not like the sweet water of the Sāgar Lake, my friends, where you know the firstborn of our race was sacrificed to the goddess ‘Devi,’ to appease her wrath for drying up the lake,—but the pure crystal stream from the hills.”

He had soon refreshed himself with a draught, and then went round the encampment in order to collect the money due to the Banker, and by early the next morning he had got together enough to liquidate the debt.

In the meantime strange things were happening at the Banker’s house, for on the night of the very day when the Banjāra had gone for the money the house was attacked by some “badmāshes,” or thieves, who carried off several bags of rupees.

“Kaloo” gave tongue, and barked loudly, but he failed to rouse the inmates, and the thieves made off with their booty. At last “Kaloo” succeeded in breaking his chain, and he followed the thieves along the road, who finding that the dawn of day was rapidly coming on, hastily deposited the money bags in a tank, intending at some future time to come again and remove them.

“Kaloo” noticed all this, gave up all further chase, and returned to the Banker’s house. When the household rose in the morning it was soon found out what had happened during the night, and in very quick time a large concourse of friends and neighbours came round about the house, and condoled with the Banker and his family at the loss they had incurred. There were offers of help on every hand, the police were sent in pursuit, and all that could be done was done to help the great Banker of the city.

While all this stir was going on some of the friends noticed that the dog was much agitated, and was every now and then pulling at their garments. Many drove him off, and even the Banker said, “As if I had not worry enough without being annoyed by a dog which does not belong to me!”

Then the Banker told all his friends how he came to be possessed of the dog which belonged to a Banjāra. Shortly afterwards an old man of the party, who knew the quick intelligence of these Banjāra dogs, said, “I think the dog knows more than you give him credit for; look! he has come to me, and I shall go where he leads me.” Soon others followed in the train, and the dog went knowingly along the road until he came to a dead stop near a tank, and went in. The old man said, “There is something here, depend upon it; let some young man go into the tank and make a search.”

This was done, and lo and behold! one bag of rupees was brought up out of the tank, and then another, and another, until all had been recovered that the Banker had lost.

Then came shoutings and congratulations from all the people upon this wonderful discovery, and loud praises were lavished on the Banjāra’s dog who had found out the hiding-place of the thieves. The Banker himself was so overcome with delight that he gave presents to his friends all round, and then looking at “Kaloo” he said, “You faithful dog! you most blessed of all securities! I shall now write out a receipt in full for the money your master owes me, and tell him all that you have done, and you yourself shall be the bearer of the good news to him.”

This he at once did, and tied the receipt and the letter on to the collar of the dog, and giving him a good feed he dismissed him to his master with many smiles and blessings.

“Kaloo,” thus released by authority, and proud of having done his duty, ran off with great joy to seek his master.

It was not long ere he saw his master hurriedly returning to the city, and running up to him he began to play round about him, and to show every sign of interest and affection. To “Kaloo’s” dismay, however, his master did not respond, but on the contrary, was in great anger, and much disappointed that his hitherto faithful dog had, as he thought, broken his chain and run away from the Banker’s house, where he had lodged him as security. In a loud voice he said, “Kaloo,’ you are a ‘Namak Harram’ (traitor to your salt); did I not tell you to wait till I released you? But instead of that you have disobeyed me, disgraced my name, and I can no longer have any confidence in you, and you are not fit to live.” Whereupon he at once drew his “talwār” (sword) from its scabbard, and at one cut severed poor “Kaloo’s” head from his body. “Wretched dog!” he said, “This is the first time I have known you to deceive me, and you richly deserve your fate.” Stooping down, his eye suddenly caught sight of a piece of paper tied to the dog’s collar, and hastily opening it he discovered to his utmost dismay that it was the Banker’s receipt in full for all the money that he owed him, and with the receipt was a letter, yes! a letter, describing how that the faithful dog had been the means of his recovering all the property that some thieves had stolen from his house on the same night of his departure from the city.