Chapter III: Part 3

"Let there be given me," answered the man, "a pig's head, a piece of silk stuff woven of five colours, (5) and a large Baling (6); these are the things which I require for the divination."

All these things being given him, he set up the pig's head on a pedestal of wood, and adorned it with the silk stuff woven of five colours, and put the Baling-cake in its mouth. Then he sat down over against it, as if sunk in earnest contemplation. Then on the day which had been named in the Khan's proclamation for the day of divination, which was the third day, all the people being assembled, assuming the air of a diviner of dreams, he wrapped himself in a long mantle, and made as though he was questioning the pig's head. As all the people passed, he seemed to gain the answer from the pig's head,--

"The talisman is not with this one," and "The talisman is not with that one," so that he had many people on his side glad to be thus pronounced free from all charge of harbouring the Khan's talisman.

At last he made a sign that this kind of divination was ended; and pronounced that the Khan's talisman was not in possession of any man.

"And now," said he, "let us try the divination of the earth." With that, he set out to make a circuit of the Khan's dwelling. Stepping on and on from place to place, he continued to seem consulting the pig's head, till he came to the place in the yard where the dung-heap was; and here, assuming an imposing attitude, he turned round, and said mysteriously, "Here somewhere must be found the Khan's talisman." But when he had turned the heap over, and brought the talisman itself to light, the people knew not how to contain themselves for wonderment, and went about crying,--

"The Pig's head diviner hath divined wonderful things! The Pig's head diviner hath divined wonderful things!"

But the Khan called to him, and said,--

"Tell me how I shall reward thee for that thou hast restored my talisman to me."

But he, who did not exert himself to think of any thing but just of what was most present to his mind, answered,--

"Let there be given me, O Khan, the raiment, and the horse, the fox, the dog, and the bow and arrows which I have lost."

When the Khan heard him ask for nothing save his horse and dog, and raiment, and a fox, and bows and arrows, he said,--

"Of a truth this is a singular soothsayer. Nevertheless, let there be given him over and above the things that he hath required of us two elephants laden with meal and butter."

So they gave him all the things he had required and two elephants laden with meal and butter to boot. Thus they brought him back unto his own home.

Seeing him yet afar, his wife came out to meet him, carrying brandy. She opened her eyes when she saw the two elephants laden with butter and meal; but knowing that he loved to be left at ease, forbore to question him that night. The next morning she made him tell her the whole story before they got up; but when she heard what little demands he had made after rendering the Khan so great a service as restoring his talisman, she exclaimed,--

"If a man would be called a man, he ought to know better how to use his opportunities."

And with that she sat to work to write a letter in her husband's name to the Khan.

The letter was conceived in these words:--

"During the brief moment that thy life-talisman was in my hands, I well recognized that thou hast a bodily infirmity. It was in order that I might conjure it from thee that I required at thy hands the dog and the fox. What reward the Khan is pleased to bestow, this shall be according to the mind of the Khan."

This letter she took with her own hands to the Khan.

When the Khan had read the letter, he was pleased to think the soothsayer had undertaken to free him of a malady against which he could never have made provision himself, as he had no knowledge of its existence; so he ordered two elephant's-loads of treasure to be given to the woman, who went back to her husband, and they had therewith enough to live in ease and plenty.

Now this Khan had had six brethren, and it happened that once they had gone out to divert themselves, and in a thick wood they saw a most beautiful maiden playing with a he-goat, whom they stood looking at till they were tired of standing, for of looking at one so beautiful they could never be weary.

At last one of them said to her,--

"Whence comest thou, beautiful maiden?"

And she answered him,--

"By following after this he-goat, thus I came hither."

"Will you come with us seven brethren, and be our wife," rejoined the brother, who had spoken first; and when she willingly agreed they took her home with them.

But they both were evil Râkshasas (7), who had only come out to find men whose lives to devour; the male Manggus (8), had taken the form of a he-goat, and the female Manggus that of a beautiful maiden, the better to deceive.

When therefore the seven took her home and the goat with her, the two Manggus had ample scope to carry out their design, and every year they devoured the life of one of the brothers, till now there was only the Khan left, and they began to consume the life of him also.

When the ministers saw that all the brothers were dead, and only the Khan left, they held a council, and they said, "Behold, all the other Khans are dead, notwithstanding all the means we have at our command, and despite the arts of all the physicians of this country." Now there remains no other means for us but to send for the Pig's head soothsayer who found the Khan's talisman, and get him to restore the Khan to health." This counsel was found good, and they all said, "Let us send for the Pig's head soothsayer."

Four men were sent off on horseback to call the Pig's head soothsayer, who laid all the case before him.

When he heard it he was greatly embarrassed, and knew not what to answer, but his vacancy passed, with them, for his being immersed in deep contemplation, and they reverenced him the more. Meantime his wife bid them put up their horses and stay the night.

In the night-time she asked of him what the men had come about, and he told her all his embarrassment.

"True, last time you exerted yourself a little and had good luck," she replied, "but now that you have been sitting here doing nothing, and looking so stupid all this time, whether you will cut as good a figure, who shall say? But go you must, seeing the Khan has sent for you."

The next morning he said to the messengers, "In the visions of the night I have learned even how I may help the Khan, and presently I will come with you."

Then he enveloped himself in a mantle, laid his hair over the crown of his head, took a large string of beads in his left hand, bound the silk stuff woven of five colours round his right arm, and carrying the pigs' head set out with them.

When he arrived with this strange aspect at the Khan's dwelling both the Manggus were much alarmed. They thought he must be some cunning soothsayer who knew all about them; they had heard, too, of his success in finding the Khan's talisman.

But the man continuing to support his character of soothsayer, ordered a Baling as big as a man to be brought to the head of the Khan's bed, and placed the pig's head on top of it, and then sat himself down over against it, murmuring words of incantation (9).

The Manggus, thinking all these preparations showed that he was a cunning soothsayer, went away to take counsel together, and the Khan being thus delivered for the time from their evil arts, his pains began to yield and he fell into a tranquil sleep. Seeing this his attendants thought favourably of the cure, and trusting therefore the more in the soothsayer's powers they left him in entire charge of the patient. Being thus freed from observation he ventured to leave his position of apparent absorption in contemplation, and to take a stolen glance at the Khan. When he saw him in such a deep sleep a great fear took him, thinking he must be very bad indeed, and he did all he could to wake him, crying aloud,--

"O great Khan! O mighty Khan!"

Finding that the Khan remained speechless he thought he must be dead, and resolved that his best part was to run away. This was not so easy, for the first open door he found to take refuge in was that of the Treasury, and the guard called out "Stop thief!" and when from thence he tried to bestow himself in the store-chamber, the guard sang out "Stop thief!" At last he went into the stable, to hide himself there, but close by the door-way stood the he-goat, whom he feared to pass, lest he should goad him with his horns. However, summoning up all his courage, he got behind him, and sprang on his back, and gave him three blows on his head; but instantly, even as the blue smoke column is carried in a straight direction by the wind, so sped the he-goat straight off to the Khanin leaving his rider stretched upon the ground. As soon as he had got up again he ran after the he-goat, to see whither he went so fast; following him, he came to the door of the Khanin's apartment, and heard the he-goat talking to her within. The two Manggus spoke thus:--

"The Pig's head soothsayer is a soothsayer indeed," said the he-goat; "he divined that I was in the stable, and he came there after me, and sprang upon my back, giving me three mighty blows, by which I know the weight of his arm. The best thing we can do is to make good our escape."

The Khanin made answer, "I, also, am of the same mind. I saw when he first came in that he recognized us for what we are. We have had good fortune hitherto, but it has forsaken us now; it were better we got away. I know what he will do; in a day or two, when he has cured the Khan by not letting us approach him to devour his life, he will assemble together all the men of the place with their arms, and all the women, telling them to bring each a faggot of wood for burning. When all are assembled he will say, 'Let that he-goat be brought to me,' so they will bind thee and take thee before him. Then will he say to thee, 'Lay aside thine assumed form,' and it will be impossible for thee not to obey. When he has shown thee thus in thine own shape they will all fall upon thee, and put thee to death with swords and arrows, and burn thee in the fire. And afterwards with me will he deal after the same manner. Now, therefore, to-morrow or the next day we will be beforehand with him, and will go where we shall be safe from his designs."

When the man heard all this, he left off from following the goat, and went back with good courage, to take up his place again over against the pig's head by the side of the Khan's couch.

In the morning the Khan woke, refreshed with his slumber; and when they inquired how he felt, the Khan replied that the soothsayer's power had diminished the force of the malady.

"If this be even so," here interposed the soothsayer, "and if the Khan has confidence in the word of his servant, command now thy ministers that they call together all thy subjects--the men with their arms, and the women each with a faggot of wood for burning." Then the Khan ordered that it should be done according to his word. When they were all assembled, the pretended soothsayer, having set up his pig's head, commanded further that they should bring the he-goat out of the stable before him; and when they had bound him and brought him, that they should put his saddle on him. Then he sprang on to his back, and gave him three blows with all his strength, and dismounted. Then with all the power of voice he could command, he cried out to him, "Lay aside thine assumed form!"

At these words the he-goat was changed before the eyes of all present into a horrible Manggus, deformed and hideous to behold. With swords and sticks, lances and stones, the whole people fell upon him, and disabled him, and then burnt him with fire till he was dead.

Then said the soothsayer, "Now, bring hither the Khanin." So they went and dragged down the Khanin to the place where he stood, with yelling and cries of contempt.

With one hand on the pig's head, as if taking his authority from it, the soothsayer cried out to her, in a commanding voice,--

"Resume thine own form!"

Then she too became a frightful Manggus, and they put her to death like the other.

The soothsayer now rode back to the Khan's palace, all the people making obeisance to him as he went along--some crying, "Hail!" some strewing the way with barley, and some bringing him rich offerings. It took him nearly the space of a day to make his way through such a throng.

When at last he arrived, the Khan received him with a grateful welcome, and asked him what present he desired of him. The soothsayer answered, with his usual simplicity, "In our part of the country we have none of those pieces of wood which I see you put here into the noses of the oxen: let there be given me a quantity of them to take back with me." The Khan then ordered there should be given him three sacks of the pieces of wood for the oxen, and seven elephants laden with meal and butter to boot.

When he arrived home, his wife came out to meet him with brandy, and when she saw the seven elephants with their loads, she extolled him highly; but when she came to learn how great was the deliverance he had rendered to the Khan, she was indignant that he had not asked for higher reward, and determined to go the next day herself to the Khan.

The next day she went accordingly, disguised, and sent in a letter of the following purport to the Khan:--

"Although I, the Pig's head soothsayer, brought the Khan round from his malady, yet some remains of it still hang about him. It was in order to remove these that I asked for the pieces of wood for the oxen; what guerdon has been earned by this further service it is for the Khan to decide."

Such a letter she sent in to the Khan.

"The man has spoken the truth," said the Khan, on reading the letter. "For his reward, let him and his wife, his parents and friends, all come over hither and dwell with me."

When they arrived, the Khan said, "When one has to show his gratitude, and dismisses him to whom he is indebted with presents, that does not make an end of the matter. That I was not put to death by the Manggus is thy doing; that the kingdom was not given over to destruction was thy doing; that the ministers were not eaten up by the Manggus was thy doing: it is meet, therefore, that we share between us the inheritance, even between us two, and reign in perfect equality." With such words he gave him half his authority over the kingdom, and to all his family he gave rich fortunes and appointments of state. And thus his wife became Khanin; so that while he could indulge himself in the same idle life as before, she also enjoyed rest from her household and pastoral cares (10).

"Though the woman despised her husband's understanding," exclaimed the Khan, "yet was it always his doings which brought them wealth after all!"

And as he let these words escape him, the Siddhî-kür replied, "Forgetting his health, the Well-and-wise-walking Khan hath opened his lips. "And with the cry, "To escape out of this world is good!" he sped him through the air, swift out of sight.

TALE V.

When the Well-and-wise-walking Khan found that he had again missed the end and object of his journey, without hesitation or loss of time he once more betook himself to the cool grove, and summoned the Siddhî-kür to come with him, threatening to hew down the mango-tree.

But as he bore him along, bound in his bag of many colours, in which was place to stow away an hundred, the Siddhî-kür spoke thus, saying, "Tell thou now a tale to beguile the weariness of the way." But the Well-and-wise-walking Khan answered him nothing. Then said the Siddhî-kür again, "If thou wilt not tell a tale, at least give the token that I may know thou willest I should tell one."

So the Khan nodded his head backwards and the Siddhî-kür told this tale, saying,--

HOW THE SERPENT-GODS WERE PROPITIATED.

Long ages ago there reigned over a flourishing province, a Khan named Kun-snang (1). He had a son named "Sunshine" by his first wife who afterwards died. He also had a second son named "Moonshine," by his second wife. Now the second wife thought within herself, "If Sunshine is allowed to live, there is no chance of Moonshine ever coming to the throne. Some means must be found of putting Sunshine out of the way."

With this object in view she threw herself down upon her couch and tossed to and fro as though in an agony of pain. All the night through also instead of sleeping, she tossed about and writhed with pain. Then the Khan spake to her, saying, "My beautiful one! what is it that pains thee, and with what manner of ailment art thou stricken?" And she made answer,--

"Even when I was at home I suffered oftwhiles after the same manner, but now is it much more violent; all remedies have I exhausted previous times, there remains only one when the pain is of this degree, and that means is not available."

"Say not that it is not available," answered the Khan, "for all means are available to me. Speak but what it is that is required, and whatever it be shall be done, even to the renouncing of my kingdom. For there is nothing that I would not give in exchange for thy life."

But for a long time she made as though she would not tell him, then finally yielding to his repeated inquiries, she said, "If there were given me the heart of a Prince, stewed in sesame-oil (2), I should recover: it matters not whether the heart of Sunshine or of Moonshine, but that Moonshine being my own son, his heart would not pass through my throat. This means, O Khan, is manifestly not available, for how should it be done to take the life of Prince Sunshine? Therefore say no more, and let me die."

But the Khan answered, "Of a truth it would grieve me to take the life of Prince Sunshine. Nevertheless, if there be no other means of saving thy life, the thing must be done. I have not to consider 'Shall the life of the Prince be spared or not?' but, 'Which shall be spared, the life of the Prince, or the life of the Khanin?' And in this strait who could doubt, but that it is the life of the Khanin that must be spared by me? Therefore, be of good cheer, beautiful one, for that the heart of Prince Sunshine shall be given thee cooked in sesame-oil."

This, he said, intending in his own mind to have the heart of a kid of the goats prepared for her in sesame-oil, saying, "Behold, here is the heart of Prince Sunshine," but to send away the Prince into a far country that she might not know he was not dead. Only when she was restored to health again, then he purposed to fetch back his son. But Moonshine being in his mother's apartments overheard this promise which the Khan had given, and he ran and told his brother all that the Khan, his father, had said, saying, "When the Khan rises he will give the order to put thee to death; how shall this thing be averted?" and he wept sore, for he loved his brother Sunshine even as his own life.

Then Sunshine answered, saying, "Seeing this is so, remain thou with our parents, loving and honouring them, and being loved by them. For me, it is clear the time is come that I must get me away to a far country. Farewell, my brother!"

But Moonshine answered, "Nay, brother, for if thou goest, I also go with thee. How should I live alone here, without thee, my brother?" Therefore they rose quickly before the Khan could get up, and going privately to a priest in a temple hard by, that no one else might hear of their design and betray it to the Khan, they begged of him a good provision of baling-cakes (3), to support life by the way; and he gave them a good provision, even a bag-full, and they set out on their journey while it was yet night. It was the fifteenth of the month, while the moon shed abroad her light, and they journeyed towards the East, not knowing whither they went. But after they had journeyed many days over mountain and plain, and come to a land where was no water, but a muddy river the water whereof could not be drunk, and where was no habitation of man, Moonshine fell down fainting by the way. Sunshine therefore ran to the top of a high hill to see if he could discern any stream of water, but found none. When he came back Moonshine was dead! Then he fell down on the ground, and wept a long space upon his body, and at nightfall he buried it with solicitude under a heap of stones, crying, "Ah! my brother, how shall I live without thee, my brother?" And he prayed that at Moonshine's next re-birth (4) they might again live together.

Journeying farther on, he came to a pass between two steep rocks, and in one of them was a red door. Going up to the door, he found an ancient Hermit living in a cave within, who addressed him, saying, "Whence art thou, O youth, who seemest oppressed with recent grief?" And Sunshine told him all that had befallen him. Without again speaking the Hermit put into the folds of his girdle a bottle containing a life-restoring cordial, and going to the spot where Moonshine lay buried, restored him to life. Then said he to the two princes, "Live now with me, and be as my two sons." So they lived with him, and were unto him as his two sons.

The desert where this Hermit lived belonged to the kingdom of a Khan dazzling in his glory and resistless in might. Now it was about the season when the Khan and his subjects went every year to direct the flowing of water over the country for fructifying the grain-seeds; but it was the custom every year at this season first, in order to make the Serpent-gods (5) who lived at the water-head propitious, to sacrifice to them a youth of a certain age; and on this occasion it fell to the lot of a youth born in the Tiger-year (6). When the Khan had caused search to be made through all the people no youth was found among them all born in the Tiger-year. At last certain herdsmen came before him, saying, "While we were out tending our cattle, behold we saw in a cave nigh to a pass between two steep rocks a Hermit who has with him two sons, and one of them born in the Tiger-year."

When the Khan had listened to their word he immediately sent three envoys to fetch the Hermit's son for the sacrifice (7).

When the three envoys of the Khan had come and stood knocking before the red door of the Hermit's cave, the Hermit cried out to them, asking what they wanted of him. Then answered the chief of them, "Because thou hast a son living with thee born in the Tiger-year, and the Khan hath need of him for the sacrifice; therefore are we come, even that we may bring him to the Khan."

When the Hermit had heard their embassage, he answered them, "How should a Hermit have a son with him out here in the desert?" But he took Sunshine, who was the youth born in the Tiger-year, and motioned him into a farther hole of the cave where was a great vessel of pottery; into this vessel he made him creep, then fastening the mouth of the vessel with earth, he made it to appear like to a jar of rice-brandy (8). Meantime, however, the Khan's envoys had broken down the door, and began searching through every recess of the cave. Finding nothing, they were filled with fury, and in their anger beat the Hermit on whose account they had come a bootless errand. But when Sunshine heard the men ill-treating the Hermit who had been to him as a father, he could not refrain himself, and called out from within the brandy-jar, "Unhand my father!" Then the envoys immediately left off beating his father, but they turned and seized him and carried him off to the Khan, while the Hermit was left weeping with great grief at the loss of his adopted son, even as one like to die.

As the envoys dragged Sunshine along before the palace, the Khan's daughter was looking out of window, and when she heard that the handsome youth was destined for the Serpent-sacrifice, she was filled with compassion. She went therefore to the men who had the charge to throw him into the water, saying, "See how comely he is! He is worthy to be saved, throw him not into the water. Or else if you will throw him in, throw me in also with him." Then the men went and showed the Khan her words; whereupon the king was wroth, and said, "She is not worthy to be called the Khan's daughter; let them therefore be both sewn up into one bullock's skin, and so cast into the water." The men therefore did according to the Khan's bidding, and sewing them both up in one bullock-hide together, cast them into the water to the Serpent-gods.

Then began Sunshine to say, "That they should throw me to the Serpent-gods, because I was the only youth to be found who was born in the Tiger-year, was not so bad; but that this beautiful maiden, who hath deigned to lift her eyes on me, and to love me, should be so sacrificed also, this is unbearable!"

And the Khan's daughter in like manner cried, "That I who am only a woman should be thrown to the Serpent-gods, is not so bad; but that this noble and beautiful youth should be so sacrificed also, this is unbearable!"

When the Serpent-gods heard these laments, and saw how the prince and the maiden vied with each other in generosity, they sent and fetched them both out of the water, and gave them freedom. Also as soon as they were set free, they let the water gently flow over the whole country, just as the people desired for their rice irrigation.

Meantime, Sunshine said to the Khan's daughter, "Princess, let us each now return home. Go thou to thy father's palace, while I go back to the Hermitage, and visit my adopted father, who is like to die of grief for the loss of me. After I have fulfilled this filial duty, I will return to thee, and we will live for ever after for each other alone."

The princess then praised his filial love, and bid him go console his father, only begging him to come to her right soon, for she should have no joy till he came back.

Sunshine went therefore to the Hermit, whom he found so worn with grief, that he was but just in time to save him from dying; so having first washed him with milk and water, he consoled him with many words of kindness.

The princess, too, went home to the palace, where all were so astonished at her deliverance that at first she could hardly obtain admission. When they had made sure it was herself in very truth, the people all came round her, and congratulated her with joy, for never had any one before been delivered from the sacrifice to the Serpent-gods.

Then said the Khan, "That the Khan's daughter should be spared by the Serpent-gods was to be expected. They have the youth born in the Tiger-year for their sacrifice."

But the princess answered, "Neither has he fallen sacrifice. Him also they let free; and indeed was it in great part out of regard for his abnegation and distress over my suffering that we were both let free."

Then answered the Khan, "In that case is our debt great unto this youth. Let him be sought after, and besought that he come to visit us in our palace."

So they went again to the cave in the rocky pass, and fetched Sunshine; and when he came near, the Khan went out to meet him, and caused costly seats to be brought, and made him sit down thereon beside him.

Then he said to him, "That thou hast delivered this country from the fear of drought, is matter for which we owe thee our highest gratitude; but that thou and this my daughter also have escaped from death is a marvellous wonder. Tell me now, art thou in very truth the son of the Hermit?"

"No," replied Sunshine, "I am the son of a mighty Khan; but my step-mother, seeking to make a difference between me and this my brother standing beside me, who was her own born son, and to put me to death, we fled away both together; and thus fleeing we came to the Hermit, and were taken in by his hospitality."

When the Khan had heard his words, he promised him his daughter in marriage, and her sister, to be wife to Moonshine. Moreover, he endowed them with immeasurable riches, and gave them an escort of four detachments of fighting-men to accompany them home. When they had arrived near the capital of the kingdom, they sent an embassage before them to the Khan, saying,--

"We, thy two sons, Sunshine and Moonshine, are returned to thee."

The Khan and the Khanin, who had for many years past quite lost their reason out of grief for the loss of their children, and held no more converse with men, were at once restored to sense and animation at this news, and sent out a large troop of horsemen to meet them, and conduct them to their palace. Thus the two princes returned in honour to their home.

When they came in, the Khan was full of joy and glory, sitting on his throne; but the Khanin, full of remorse and shame at the thought of the crime she had meditated, fell down dead before their face.

"That wretched woman got the end that she deserved!" exclaimed the Khan.

"Forgetting his health, the Well-and-wise-walking Khan hath opened his lips," said the Siddhî-kür. And with the cry, "To escape out of this world is good!" he sped him through the air, swift out of sight.

Thus far of the Adventures of the Well-and-wise-walking Khan the fifth chapter, showing how the Serpent-gods were appeased.

TALE VI.

When the Well-and-wise-walking Khan found that he had again missed the end and object of his journey, he proceeded once more by the same manner and means to the cool grove. And, having bound the Siddhî-kür in his bag, bore him on his shoulder to present to his Master and Teacher Nâgârg'una.

But by the way the Siddhî-kür asked him to tell a tale, and when he would not answer begged for the token of his assent that he should tell one, which when the Khan had given he told this tale, saying,--

THE TURBULENT SUBJECT.

Long ages ago there lived in a district called Brschiss (1) a haughty, turbulent man. As he feared no man and obeyed no laws, the Khan of that country sent to him, saying, "Since thou wilt obey no laws, thou canst not remain in my country. Get thee gone hence, or else submit to the laws!"

But the turbulent man chose rather to go forth in exile than submit to the laws. So he went wandering forth till he came to a vast plain covered with feather-grass, and a palm-tree standing in the midst, with a dead horse lying beneath it. Under the shade of the palm-tree (2) he sat down, saying, "The head of this horse will be useful for food when my provisions are exhausted." So he bound it into his waist-scarf and climbed up into the palm-tree to pass the night.

He had scarcely composed himself to sleep when there was a great noise of shouting and yelling, which woke him up; and behold there came thither towards the palm-tree, from the southern side of the steppe, a herd of dæmons, having ox-hide caps on their heads, and riding on horses covered with ox-hides. Nor had they long settled themselves before another herd of dæmons came trooping towards the palm-tree from the northern side of the steppe, and these wore paper caps and rode on horses wearing paper coverings.

All these dæmons now danced and feasted together with great howling and shouting. The man looked down upon them from the tree-top full of terror, but also full of envy at their enjoyment. As he leant over to watch them, the horse's head tumbled out of his girdle right into their midst and scattered them in dire alarm in every direction, not one of them daring to look up to see whence it came. It was not till the morning light broke, however, that the man ventured to come down. When he did so, he said, "Last night there was much feasting and drinking going on here, surely there must be something left from such a banquet." Searching through the long feather-grass all about, he discovered a gold goblet full of brandy (3), from which he drank long draughts, but it continued always full. At last he turned it down upon the ground, and immediately all manner of meats and cakes appeared. "This goblet is indeed larder and cellar!" said the man, and taking it with him he went on his way.

Farther on he met a man brandishing a thick stick as he walked.

"What is your stick good for that you brandish it so proudly?" asked the turbulent man.

"My stick is so much good that when I say to it, 'Fly, that man has stolen somewhat of me, fly after him and kill him and bring me back my goods,' it instantly flies at the man and brings my things back."

"Yours is a good stick, but see my goblet; whatsoever you desire of meat or drink this same goblet provides for the wishing. Will you exchange your stick against my goblet?"

"That will I gladly," rejoined the traveller.

But the turbulent man, having once effected the exchange, cried to the stick, "Fly, that man has stolen my goblet, fly after him and kill him and bring me back my goblet! "Before the words had left his lips the stick flew through the air, killed the man, and brought back the goblet. Thus he had both the stick and the goblet.

Farther on he saw a man coming who carried an iron hammer.

"What is your hammer good for?" inquired he as they met.

"My hammer is so good," replied the traveller, "that when I strike it nine times on the ground immediately there rises up an iron tower nine storeys high."

"Yours is a good hammer," replied the turbulent man, "but look at my goblet; whatever you desire of meat or drink this same goblet provides for the wishing. Will you change your hammer against my goblet?"

"That will I gladly," replied the wayfarer.

But the turbulent man, having once effected the exchange, cried to the stick, "Fly, that man has stolen my goblet, fly after him and kill him and bring me back the goblet." The command was executed as soon as spoken, and the turbulent man thus became possessed of the hammer as well as the stick and the goblet.

Farther on he saw a man carrying a goat's leather bag.

"What is your bag good for?" inquired he as they met.

"My bag is so good that I have but to shake it and there comes a shower of rain, but if I shake it hard then it rains in torrents."

"Yours is a good bag," replied the turbulent man, "but see my goblet; whatsoever you desire of meat or drink it provides you for the wishing. Will you exchange your bag against my goblet?"

"That will I gladly," answered the traveller.

But no sooner had the turbulent man possession of the bag than he sent his stick as before to recover the goblet also.

Provided with all these magic articles, he had no fear in returning to his own country in spite of the prohibition of the Khan. Arrived there about midnight, he established himself behind the Khan's palace, and, striking the earth nine times with his iron hammer, there immediately appeared an iron fortress nine storeys high, towering far above the palace.

In the morning the Khan said, "Last night I heard 'knock, knock, knock,' several times. What will it have been?" So the Khanin rose and looked out and answered him, saying, "Behold, a great iron fortress, nine storeys high, stands right over against the palace."

"This is some work of that turbulent rebel, I would wager!" replied the Khan, full of wrath. "And he has brought it to that pass that we must now measure our strength to the uttermost." Then he rose and called together all his subjects, and bid them each bring their share of fuel to a great fire which he kindled all round the iron fortress; all the smiths, too, he summoned to bring their bellows and blow it, and thus it was turned into a fearful furnace.

Meantime the turbulent man sat quite unconcerned in the ninth storey with his mother and his son, occupied with discussing the viands which the golden goblet provided. When the fire began to reach the eighth storey, the man's mother caught a little alarm, saying, "Evil will befall us if this fire which the Khan has kindled round us be left unchecked." But he answered, "Mother! fear nothing; I have the means of settling that." Then he drew out his goat's-leather bag, went with it up to the highest turret of the fortress, and shook it till the rain flowed and pretty well extinguished the fire; but he also went on shaking it till the rain fell in such torrents that presently the whole neighbourhood was inundated, and not only the embers of the fire but the smiths' bellows were washed away, and the people and the Khan himself had much ado to escape with their lives. At last the gushing waters had worked a deep moat round the fortress, in which the turbulent man dwelt henceforth secure, and the Khan durst admonish him no more.

"Thus the power of magic prevailed over sovereign might and majesty," exclaimed the Khan; and as he uttered these words the Siddhî-kür said, "Forgetting his health, the Well-and-wise-walking Khan hath opened his lips." And with the cry, "To escape out of this world is good!" he sped him through the air, swift out of sight.

Of the Adventures of the Well-and-wise-walking Khan the sixth chapter, of how it fell out with the Turbulent Subject.

TALE VII.

When the Well-and-wise-walking Khan found that he had again missed the end and object of his labour, he proceeded again by the same manner and means to the cool grove, and having bound the Siddhî-kür in his bag, bore him on his shoulder to present to his Master and Teacher Nâgârg'una.

But by the way the Siddhî-kür asked him to tell a tale; and when he would not answer, craved the token of his assent that he should tell one, which when the Khan had given, he told this tale, saying,--

THE WHITE BIRD AND HIS WIFE.

Long ages ago, there lived in a land called Fair-flower-garden, a man, who had three daughters, who minded his herds of goats (1), the three alternately.

One day, when it was the turn of the eldest sister to go with them, she fell asleep during the mid-day heat, and when she awoke, she found that one of the goats was missing. While she wandered about seeking it, she came to a place where was a great red door. When she had opened this, she found behind it, a little farther on, a great gold door. And when she had opened this, she found farther on another door all of shining mother-o'-pearl. She opened this, and beyond it again there was an emerald door, which gave entrance to a splendid palace full of gold and precious stones, dazzling to behold. Yet in all the whole palace there was no living thing save one white bird perched upon a costly table in a cage.

The bird espying the maiden, said to her, "Maiden, how camest thou hither?" And she replied, "One of my father's goats has escaped from the flock, and as I dare not go home without it, I have been seeking it every where; thus came I hither." Then the White Bird said, "If thou wilt consent to be my wife (2), I will not only tell thee where the goat is, but restore it to thee. If, however, thou refuse to render me this service, the goat is lost to thy father's flock for ever." But the maiden answered, "How can I be thy wife, seeing thou art a bird? Therefore is my father's goat lost to his flock for ever." And she went away weeping for sorrow.

The next day, when the second daughter took her turn with the herds, another goat escaped from the flock; and when she went to seek it, she also came to the strange palace and the white bird; but neither could she enter into his idea of her becoming his wife; and she therefore came home, sorrowing over the loss to the herd under her care.

The day following, the youngest daughter went forth with the goats, and a goat also strayed from her. But she, when she had come to the palace, and the white bird asked her to become his wife, with the promise of restoring her goat in case of her consent, answered him, "As a rule, creatures of the male gender keep their promises; therefore, O bird! I accept thy conditions." Thus she agreed to become his wife.

One day there was to be a great gathering, lasting thirteen days, in a temple in the neighbourhood. And when all the people were assembled together, it was found that it was just this woman, the wife of the white bird, who was more comely than all the other women. And among the men there was a mighty rider, mounted on a dappled grey horse, who was so far superior to all the rest, that when he had trotted thrice round the assembly and ridden away again, they could not cease talking of his grace and comeliness, and his mastery of his steed.

When the wife came back home again to the palace in the rock, the white bird said to her, "Among all the men and women at the festival, who was regarded to have given the proofs of superiority?" And she answered, "Among the men, it was one riding on a dappled grey horse; and among the women, it was I." Thus it happened every day of the festival, neither was there any, of men or women, that could compete with these two.

On the twelfth day, when the woman that was married to the white bird went again to the festival, she had for her next neighbour an ancient woman, who asked her how it had befallen the other days of the feast; and she told her, saying, "Among all the women none has overmatched me; but among the men, there is none to compare with the mighty rider on the dappled grey horse. If I could but have such a man for my husband, there would be nothing left to wish for all the days of my life!" Then said the ancient woman, "And why shouldst thou not have such a man for thy husband?" But she began to weep, and said, "Because I have already promised to be the wife of a white bird." "That is just right!" answered the ancient woman. "Behold, to-morrow is the thirteenth day of the assembly; but come not thou to the feast, only make as though thou wert going: hide thyself behind the emerald door. When thou seemest to be gone, the white bird will leave his perch, and assuming his man's form, will go into the stable, and saddle his dappled grey steed, and ride to the festival as usual. Then come thou out of thy hiding-place, and burn his perch, and cage, and feathers; so will he have henceforth to wear his natural form." Thus the ancient woman instructed the wife of the white bird.

The next day the woman did all that she had been told, even according to the words of the ancient woman. But as she longed exceedingly to see her husband return, she placed herself behind a pillar where she could see him coming a long way. At last, as the sun began to sink quite red towards the horizon, she saw him coming on his dapple-grey horse. "How is this?" he exclaimed, as he espied her. "You got back sooner than I, then?" And she answered, "Yes, I got home the first." Then inquired he further, "Where is my perch and cage?" And she made answer, "Those have I burned in the fire, in order that thou mightest henceforth appear only in thy natural form." Then he exclaimed, "Knowest thou what thou hast done? In that cage had I left not my feathers only, but also my soul (3)!" And when she heard that, she wept sore, and besought him, saying, "Is there no means of restoration? Behold there is nothing that I could not endure to recover thy soul." And the man answered, "There is one only remedy. The gods and dæmons will come to-night to fetch me, because my soul is gone from me; but I can keep them in perpetual contest for seven days and seven nights. Thou, meantime, take this stick, and with it hew and hew on at the mother-o'-pearl door without stopping or resting day or night. By the close of the seventh night thou shalt have hewn through the door, and I shall be free from the gods and dæmons; but, bear in mind, that if thou cease from hewing for one single instant, or if weariness overtake thee for one moment, then the gods and dæmons will carry me away with them--away from thee." Thus he spoke. Then the woman went and fetched little motes of the feather-grass, and fixed her eyelids open with them, that she might not be overtaken by slumber; and with the stick that her husband had given her she set to work, when night fell, to hew and hew on at the mother-o'-pearl door. Thus she hewed on and on, nor wearied, seven days and seven nights: only the seventh night, the motes of grass having fallen out of one of her eyes so that she could not keep the lid from closing once, in that instant the gods and dæmons prevailed against her husband, and carried him off.

Inconsolable, she set forth to wander after him, crying, "Ah! my beloved husband. My husband of the bird form!" Notwithstanding that she had not slept or left off toiling for seven days and seven nights, she set out, without stopping to take rest, searching for him every where in earth and heaven (4).

At last, as she continued walking and crying out, she heard his voice answering her from the top of a mountain. And when she had toiled up to the top of the mountain, crying aloud after him, she heard him answer her from the bottom of a stream. When she came down again to the banks of the stream, still calling loudly upon him, there she found him by a sacred Obö, raised to the gods by the wayside (5). He sat there with a great bundle of old boots upon his back, as many as he could carry.

When they had met, he said to her, "This meeting with thee once more rejoices my heart. The gods and dæmons have made me their water-carrier; and in toiling up and down from the river to their mountain (6) so many times, I have worn out all these pairs of boots."

But she answered, "Tell me, O beloved, what can I do to deliver thee from this bondage?"

And he answered, "There is only this remedy, O faithful one. Even that thou return now home, and build another cage like to the one that was burned, and that having built it, thou woo my soul back into it. Which when thou hast done, I myself must come back thither, nor can gods or dæmons withhold me."

So she went back home, and built a cage like to the one that was burned, and wooed the soul of her husband back into it; and thus was her husband delivered from the power of the gods and dæmons, and came back to her to live with her always.

"In truth that was a glorious woman for a wife!" exclaimed the Khan.

"Forgetting his health, the Well-and-wise-walking Khan hath opened his lips," replied the Siddhî-kür. And with the cry, "To escape out of this world is good!" he sped him through the air, swift out of sight.

Thus far of the Adventures of the Well-and-wise-walking Khan the seventh chapter, of how it befell the White Bird and his Wife.

TALE VIII.

When the Well-and-wise-walking Khan found that he had again missed the end and object of his labour, he proceeded yet again as heretofore to the cool grove, and having taken captive the Siddhî-kür bore him along to present to the Master and Teacher Nâgârg'una. But by the way the Siddhî-kür asked him to tell a tale, and when he would not speak, craved of him the token that he willed he should tell one; which, when he had given, he told this tale, saying,--

HOW ÂNANDA THE WOOD-CARVER AND ÂNANDA THE PAINTER STROVE AGAINST EACH OTHER.

Long ages ago there lived in a kingdom which was called Kun-smon (1), a Khan named Kun-snang (2). When this Khan departed this life his son named Chamut Ssakiktschi (3) succeeded to the throne.

In the same kingdom lived a painter named Ânanda (4), and a wood-carver also named Ânanda. These men were friends of each other apparently, but jealousy reigned in their hearts.

One day, now, it befell that Ânanda the painter, whom to distinguish from the other, we will call by his Tibetian name of Kun-dgah instead of by his Sanskrit name of Ânanda, appeared before the Khan, and spoke in this wise: "O Khan, thy father, born anew into the kingdom of the gods, called me thither unto him, and straightway hearing his behest, I obeyed it." As he spoke he handed to "All-protecting" the Khan, a forged strip of writing which was conceived after this manner:--

"To my son Chotolo (5) Ssakiktschi!

"When I last parted from thee, I took my flight out of the lower life, and was born again into the kingdom of the gods (6). Here I have my abode in plenitude, yea, superabundance of all that I require. Only one thing is wanting. In order to complete a temple I am building, I find not one to adorn it cunning in his art like unto Ânanda our wood-carver. Wherefore, I charge thee, son Chotolo-Ssakiktschi, call unto thee Ânanda the wood-carver, and send him up hither to me. The way and means of his coming shall be explained unto thee by Kun-dgah the painter."