Chapter V: Part 5

When he woke in the morning he found all prepared even as he had wished. Here, therefore, he lived in peace and prosperity, free from care.

Before many months had passed there came by that way a caravan of merchants travelling home who had passed over the spot on their outward-bound journey.

"How is this!" exclaimed the leader of the caravan. "Here, where a few months ago grew nothing but grass; here is there now sprung up a city in all this magnificence!" So they came and inquired concerning it of the Brahman's son.

Then Shrikantha told them the whole story of how it had come to pass, and moreover showed them the talisman. Then said the leader of the caravan, "Behold! we will give thee all our camels and horses and mules, together with all our merchandize and our stores, only give us thou the talisman in exchange." So he gave them the talisman in exchange, and they went on their way. But the Brahman's son went to sleep in his palace, on his soft couch with silken pillows.

In the morning, when he woke, behold the couch with the silken pillows was no more there, and he was lying on the ground in the island in the midst of the water!

Then came the mouse, the ape, and the bear to him, saying--

"What misfortune is this that hath happened to thee this second time?" So he told them the whole story of how it had come to pass. And they, answering, said to him, "Surely now it was foolish thus to part with the talisman; nevertheless, maybe we three may find it." And they set out to follow the track of the travelling merchants. They were not long before they came to a flourishing city with a shining palace in its midst, surrounded by shady groves, and streams meandering through them. Here the merchants had established themselves.

When night fell, the ape and the bear took up their post in a grove near the palace, while the mouse crept within the same, till she came to the apartment where the leader of the caravan slept--here she crept in through the keyhole. The leader of the caravan lay asleep on a soft couch with silken pillows. In a corner of the apartment was a heap of rice, in which was an arrow stuck upright, to which the talisman was bound, but two stout cats were chained to the spot to guard it. This report the mouse brought to the ape and the bear. "If it is as thou hast said," answered the bear, "there is nothing to be done. Let us return to our master." "Not so!" interposed the ape. "There is yet one means to be tried. When it is dark to-night, thou mouse, go again to the caravan leader's apartment, and, having crept in through the keyhole, gnaw at the man's hair. Then the next night, to save his hair, he will have the cats chained to his pillow, when the talisman being unguarded, thou canst go in and fetch it away." Thus he instructed the mouse.

The next night, therefore, the mouse crept in again through the keyhole, and gnawed at the man's hair. When the man got up in the morning, and saw that his hair fell off by handfuls, he said within himself, "A mouse hath done this. To-night, to save what hair remains, the two cats must be chained to my pillow." And so it was done. When the mouse came again, therefore, the cats being chained to the caravan leader's pillow, she could work away at the heap of rice till the arrow fell; then she gnawed off the string which bound the talisman to it, and rolled it before her all the way to the door. Arrived here, she was obliged to leave it, for by no manner of means could she get it up to the keyhole. Full of sorrow, she came and showed this strait to her companions. "If it is as thou hast said," answered the bear, "there is nothing to be done. Let us return to our master."

"Not so!" interposed the ape; "there is yet one means to be tried. I will first tie a string to the tail of the mouse, then let her go down through the keyhole, and hold the talisman tightly with all her four feet, and I will draw her up through the keyhole." This they did; and thus obtained possession of the talisman.

They now set out on the return journey, the ape sitting on the back of the bear, carrying the mouse in his ear and the talisman in his mouth. Travelling thus, they came to a place where there was a stream to cross. The bear, who all along had been fearing the other two animals would tell the master how little part he had had in recovering the talisman, now determined to vaunt his services. Stopping therefore in the midst of the stream, he said, "Is it not my back which has carried ye all--ape, mouse, and talisman--over all this ground? Is not my strength great? and are not my services more than all of yours?" But the mouse was asleep snugly in the ear of the ape, and the ape feared to open his mouth lest he should drop the talisman; so there was no answer given. Then the bear was angry when he found there was no answer given, and, having growled, he said, "Since it pleases you not, either of you, to answer, I will even cast you both into the water." At that the ape could not forbear exclaiming, "Oh! cast us not into the water!" And as he opened his mouth to speak, the talisman dropped into the water. When he saw the talisman was lost, he was full dismayed; but for fear lest the bear should drop him in the water, he durst not reproach him till they were once more on land.

Arrived at the bank, he cried out, "Of a surety thou art a cross-grained, ungainly sort of a beast; for in that thou madest me to answer while I had the talisman in my mouth, it has fallen into the water, and is more surely lost to the master than before." "If it is even as thou hast said," answered the bear, "there is nothing to be done. Let us return to the master." But the mouse waking up at the noise of the strife of words, inquired what it all meant. When therefore the ape had told her how it had fallen out, and how that they were now without hope of recovering the talisman, the mouse replied, "Nay, but I know one means yet. Sit you here in the distance and wait, and let me go to work."

So they sat down and waited, and the mouse went back to the edge of the stream. At the edge of the stream she paced up and down, crying out as if in great fear. At the noise of her pacing and her cries, the inhabitants of the water all came up, and asked her the cause of her distress. "The cause of my distress," replied the mouse, "is my care for you. Behold there is even now, at scarcely a night's distance, an army on the march which comes to destroy you all; neither can you escape from it, for though it marches over dry land, in a moment it can plunge in the water and live there equally well." "If that is so," answered the inhabitants of the water, "then there is no help for us." "The means of help there is," replied the mouse. "If we could between us construct a pier along the edge of the water, on which you could take refuge, you would be safe, for half in and half out of the water this army lives not, and could not pursue you thither." So the inhabitants of the water replied, "Let us construct a pier." "Hand me up then all the biggest pebbles you can find," said the mouse, "and I will build the pier." So the inhabitants of the water handed up the pebbles, and the mouse built of the pebbles a pier. When the pier was about a span long, there came a frog bringing the talisman, saying, "Bigger than this one is there no pebble here!" So the mouse took the talisman with great joy, and calling out, "Here it is!" brought the same to the ape. The ape put the talisman once more in his mouth, and the mouse in his ear; and having mounted on to the back of the bear, they brought the talisman safely to Shrikantha (5).

Shrikantha not having had his three attendants to provide him with fruits for so many days was as one like to die; nevertheless, when he saw the talisman again, he revived, and said, "Truly the services are great that I have to thank you three for." No sooner, however, had he the talisman in his hand, than all the former magnificence came back at a word--a more flourishing city, a more shining palace, trees bending under the weight of luscious fruits, and birds of beautiful plumage singing melodiously in the branches.

Then said Shrikantha again to his talisman, "If thou art really a good and clever talisman, make that to me, who have no wife, a daughter of the devas should come down and live with me, and be a wife to me." And, even as he spoke, a deva maiden came down to him, surrounded with a hundred maidens, her companions, and was his wife, and they lived a life of delights together, and a hundred sons were born to him."

"Of a truth that was a Brahman's son whom fortune delighted to honour," exclaimed the Well-and-wise-walking Khan. And as he had marched fast, and they were already far on their journey when the Siddhî-kür began his tale, they had reached even close to the precincts of the dwelling of the great Master and Teacher Nâgârg'una, when he spoke these words. Nevertheless, the Siddhî-kür had time to exclaim, "Excellent! Excellent!" and to escape swift out of sight.

But the Well-and-wise-walking Khan stood before Nâgârg'una.

Then spoke the great Master and Teacher Nâgârg'una, unto him, saying,--

"Seeing thou hast not succeeded in thine enterprise, thou hast not procured the happiness of all the inhabitants of Gambudvîpa, nor promoted the well-being of the six classes of living beings (6). Nevertheless, seeing thou hast exercised unexampled courage and perseverance, and through much terror and travail hast fetched the Siddhî-kür these thirteen times, behold, the stain of blood is removed from off thee, though thou fetch him not again. Moreover, this that thou hast done shall turn to thy profit, for henceforth thou shalt not only be called the Well-and-wise-walking Khan, but thou shalt exceed in good fortune and in happiness all the Khans of the earth."

TALE XIV.

Notwithstanding this generous promise and bountiful remission of his master Nâgârg'una, the Khan set out on his journey once again, even as before, determined this time to command his utterance and fulfil his task to the end. Treading his path with patience and earnestness he arrived at the cool grove, even to the foot of the mango-tree. There he raised his axe "White Moon," as though he would have felled it.

Then spoke the Siddhî-kür, saying, "Spare the leafy mango-tree, and I will come down to thee."

So the Khan put up his axe again and bound the Siddhî-kür on his back, to carry him off to Nâgârg'una.

Now as the day was long, and the air oppressive, so that they were well weary, the Siddhî-kür began to tempt the Khan to speak, saying,--

"Lighten now the journey by telling a tale of interest."

But how weary soever the Khan was, he pressed his lips together and answered him never a word.

Then the Siddhî-kür finding he could not make him speak, continued, "If thou wilt not lighten the journey by telling a tale of interest, tell me whether I shall tell one to thee."

And when he found that he still answered him not, he said, "If thou wilt that I tell the tale, make me a sign of consent by nodding thine head backwards."

Then the Well-and-wise-walking Khan nodded his head backwards, and the Siddhî-kür proceeded to tell the tale in these words:--

THE AVARICIOUS BROTHER.

Long ages ago there dwelt in a city of Western India two brothers.

As the elder brother had no inheritance, and made a poor living by selling herbs and wood, he suffered the common fate of those in needy circumstances, and received no great consideration from his fellow-men.

The younger brother on the other hand was wealthy, yet gave he no portion of his riches to his brother.

One day he gave a great entertainment, to which he invited all his rich neighbours and acquaintances, but to his brother he sent no invitation.

Then spoke the brother's wife to her husband, saying,--

"It were better that thou shouldst die than live thus dishonoured by all. Behold, now, thou art not even invited to thy brother's entertainment."

"Thy words which thou hast spoken are true," replied the husband. "I will even go forth and die."

Thus saying, he took up his hatchet and cord, and went out into the forest, passing over many mountains by the way. On the banks of a stream, running through the forest, he saw a number of lions and tigers (1), and other savage beasts, so he forbore to go near that water, but continued his way till he came to the head of the stream, and here in the sheltering shade of a huge rock were a number of Dakinis (2), dancing and disporting themselves to tones of dulcet music. Presently one of the Dakinis flew up on high out of the midst of those dancing, and took out of a cleft in the rock a large sack, which she brought down to the grassy bank where the dancing was going on. Having spread it out on the ground in the presence of them all, she took a hammer out of it, and began hammering lustily into the bag. As she did so, all kinds of articles of food and drink that could be desired presented themselves at the mouth of the sack. The Dakinis now left off dancing, and began laying out the meal; but ever as they removed one dish from the mouth of the bag, another and another took its place.

When they had well eaten and drank, the first Dakini hammered away again upon the bag, and forthwith there came thereout gold and silver trinkets, diadems, arm-bands, nûpuras (3), and ornaments for all parts of the body. With these the Dakinis decked themselves, till they were covered from head to foot with pearls and precious stones, and their hair sparkling with a powdering of gems (4). Then they flew away, the first Dakini taking care to lay up the bag and hammer in the cleft of the rock before taking her flight.

When they were far, far on their way, and only showed as specks in the distant sky, then the man came forth from his hiding-place, and having felled several trees with his axe, bound them together one on to the end of the other with his cord, and by this means climbed up to the cleft in the rock, where the Dakini had laid up the hammer and bag, and brought them away.

He had no sooner got down to the ground again, than to make proof of his treasure even more than to satisfy his ravenous appetite, he took the hammer out of the bag, and banged away with it on to the bag, wishing the while that it might bring him all manner of good things to eat. All sorts of delicious viands came for him as quickly as for the Dakinis, of which he made the best meal he had ever had in his life, and then hasted off home with his treasure.

When he came back he found his wife bemoaning his supposed death.

"Weep not for me!" he exclaimed, as soon as he was near enough for her to hear him; "I have that with me which will help us to live with ease to the end of our days." And without keeping her in suspense, he hammered away on his bag, wishing for clothes, and household furniture, and food, and every thing that could be desired.

After this they gave up their miserable trade in wood and herbs, and led an easy and pleasant life.

The neighbours, however, laid their heads together and said,--

"How comes it that this fellow has thus suddenly come into such easy circumstances?"

But his brother's wife said to her husband,--

"How can thine elder brother have come by all this wealth unless he hath stolen of our riches?" As she continued saying this often, the man believed it, and called his elder brother to him and asked him, "Whence hast thou all this wealth; who hath given it to thee?" And when he found he hesitated to answer, he added, "Now know I that thou must have stolen of my treasure; therefore, if thou tell me not how otherwise thou hast come by it, I will even drag thee before the Khan, who shall put out both thine eyes."

When the elder brother had heard this threat, he answered, "Going afar off to a place unknown to thee, having purposed in my mind to die, I found in a cleft of a rock this sack and this hammer (5)."

"And how shall this rusty iron hammer and this dirty sack give thee wealth?" again inquired his brother; and thus he pursued his inquiries until by degrees he made him tell the whole story. Nor would he be satisfied till he had explained to him exactly the situation of the place and the way to it. No sooner had he acquainted himself well of this than, taking with him a cord and an axe, he set out to go there.

When he arrived, he saw an immense number of deformed, ugly spirits, standing against the rock in eight rows, howling piteously. As he crept along to observe if there was any thing he could take of them to make his fortune as his brother had done, one of them happened to look that way and espied him, after which it was no more possible to escape.

"Of a surety this must be the fellow who stole our bag and hammer!" exclaimed the ugly spirit. "Let us at him and put him to death."

The Dakinis were thoroughly out of temper, and did not want any urging. The words were no soon uttered than, like a flock of birds, they all flew round him and seized him.

"How shall we kill him?" asked one, as she held him tight by the hair of his head till every single hair seemed as if forced out by the roots.

"Fly with him up to the top of the rock, and then dash him down!" cried some. "Drop him in the middle of the sea!" cried others. "Cut him in pieces, and give him to the dogs!" cried others again. But the sharp one who had first espied him said, "His punishment is too soon over with killing him; shall we not rather set a hideous mark upon him, so that he shall be afraid to venture near the habitations of his kind for ever?" "Well spoken!" cried the Dakinis in chorus, something like good-humour returning at the thought of such retribution. "What mark shall we set upon him?"

"Let us draw his nose out five ells long, and then make nine knots upon it," answered the sharp-witted Dakini.

This they did, and then the whole number of them flew away without leaving a trace of their flight.

Fully crestfallen and ashamed, the avaricious brother determined to wait till nightfall before he ventured home, meantime hiding himself in a cave lest any should chance to pass that way and see him with his knotted nose. When darkness had well closed in only he ventured to slink home, trembling in every limb both from remaining fright at the life-peril he had passed through, and from fear of some inopportune accident having kept any neighbour abroad who might come across his path.

Before he came in sight of his wife he began calling out most piteously,--

"Flee not from before me! I am indeed thine own, very own husband. Changed as I am, I am yet indeed the very self-same. Yet a few days I will endeavour to endure my misery, and then I will lay me down and die."

When his neighbours and friends found that he came out of his house no more, nor invited them to him, nor gave entertainments more, they began to inquire what ailed him; but he, without letting any of them enter, only answered them from within, "Woe is me! woe is me!"

Now there was in that neighbourhood a Lama (6), living in contemplation in a tirtha (7) on the river bank. "I will call in the same," thought the man, "and take his blessing ere I die." So he sent to the tirtha and called the Lama.

When the Lama came, the man bowed himself and asked his blessing, but would by no means look up, lest he should see his knotted nose. Then said the Lama, "Let me see what hath befallen thee; show it me." But he answered, "It is impossible to show it!"

Then the Lama said again, "Let me see it; showing it will not harm thee." But when he looked up and let him see his knotted nose, the sight was so frightful that a shudder seized the Lama, and he ran away for very horror." However, the man called after him and entreated him to come back, offering him rich presents; and when he had prevailed on him to sit down again, he told him the whole story of what had befallen him.

To his question, whether he could find any remedy, the Lama made answer that he knew none; but, remembering his rich presents, he thought better to turn the matter over in case any useful thought should present itself to his mind, and said he would consult his books.

"Till to-morrow I will wait, then, to hear if thy books have any remedy; and if not, then will I die."

The next morning the Lama came again. "I have found one remedy," he said, "but there is only one. The hammer and bag of which your brother is possessed could loose the knots; there is nothing else."

How elated so ever he had been to hear that a remedy had been found, by so much cast down was he when he learnt that he would have to send and ask the assistance of his brother.

"After all that I have said to him, I could never do this thing," he said mournfully, "nor would he hear me." But his wife would not leave any chance of remedying the evil untried; so she went herself to the elder brother and asked for the loan of the sack and hammer.

Knowing how anxious his brother had been to be possessed of such a treasure, however, the brother thought the alleged misfortune was an excuse to rob him of it; therefore he would not give it into her hand. Nevertheless, he went to his brother's house with it, and asked him what was the service he required of his sack. Then he was obliged to tell him all that had befallen, and to show him his knotted nose. "But," said he, "if with thy hammer thou will but loose the knots, behold the half of all I have shall be thine."

His brother accepted the terms; but not trusting to the promise of one so avaricious, he stipulated to have the terms put in order under hand and seal. When this was done he set to work immediately to swing his hammer, and let it touch one by one the knots in his brother's nose, saying as he did so,--

"May the knots which the eight rows of evil Dakinis made so strong be loosed."

And with each touch and invocation the knots began to disappear one after the other.

But his wife began to regret the loss of half their wealth, and she determined on a scheme to save it, and yet that her husband should be cured. "If," said she, "I stop him before he has undone the last knot he cannot claim the reward, because he will not have removed all the knots, and it will be a strange matter if I find not the means of obtaining the hammer long enough to remedy one knot myself." As she reasoned thus he had loosed the eighth knot.

"Stop!" she cried. "That will do now. For one knot we will not make much ado. He can bear as much disfigurement as that."

Then the elder brother was grieved because they had broken the contract, and went his way carrying the sack, and with the hammer stuck in his girdle. As he went, the younger brother's wife went stealthily behind him, and when he had just reached his own door, she sprang upon him, and snatched the hammer from out his girdle. He turned to follow her, but she had already reached her own house before he came up with her, and entering closed the door against him: then in triumph over her success, she proceeded to attempt loosing the ninth knot. Only swinging it as she had seen her brother-in-law do, and not knowing how to temper the force so that it should only just have touched the nose, the blow carried with it so much moment that the hammer went through the man's skull, even to his brain, so that he fell down and died.

By this means, not the half, but the whole of his possessions passed to his elder brother.

"If the man was avaricious, the woman was doubly avaricious," here exclaimed the Khan, "and by straining to grasp too much, she lost all."

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

TALE XV.

When therefore the Well-and-wise-walking Khan found that he had once more failed in the end and object of his mission, he once more took the way of the shady grove, and once more in the same fashion as before he took the Siddhî-kür captive in his sack. As he bore him along weary with the journey through the desert country, the Siddhî-kür asked if he would not tell a tale to enliven the way, and when he steadfastly held his tongue, the Siddhî-kür bid him, if he would that he should tell one, but give a token of nodding his head backwards, without opening his lips.

Then he nodded his head backwards, and the Siddhî-kür told this tale, saying,--

THE USE OF MAGIC LANGUAGE.

Long ages ago there lived in Western India a King who had a very clever son. In order to make the best advantage of his understanding, and to fit him in every way to become an accomplished sovereign, the King sent him into the Diamond-kingdom (1), that he might be thoroughly instructed in all kinds of knowledge. He was accompanied in his journey by the son of the king's chief minister, who was also to share his studies, but who was as dull as he was intelligent. On their arrival in the Diamond-kingdom, they gave each of them the sum with which they had been provided by their parents to two Lamas to conduct their education, and spent twelve years with them.

At the end of the twelve years the minister's son proposed to the king's son that they should now return home, and as the Lamas allowed that the king's son had made such progress in the five kinds of knowledge that there was nothing more he could learn, he agreed to the proposal, and they set out on their homeward way.

All went well at first; but one day passed, and then another, and yet another, that they came to no source of water, and being parched nigh unto death with thirst, the minister's son would have laid him down to die. As he stood hesitating about going on, a crow passed and made his cry of "ikerek." The prince now encouraged his companion, saying, "Come but a little way farther, and we shall find water."

"Nay, you deceive me not like an infant of days," answered the minister's son. "How shall we find water? Have we not laboured over the journey these three days, and found none; neither shall we find it now? Why should we add to this death of thirst the pangs of useless fatigue also?"

But the king's son said again, "Nay, but of a certainty we shall now find it."

And when he asked, "How knowest thou this of a certainty?" he replied, "I heard yon crow cry as he passed, 'Go forward five hundred paces in a southerly direction, and you will come to a source of pure, bright fresh water.'"

The king's son spoke with so much certainty that he had not strength to resist him; and so they went on five hundred paces farther in a southerly direction, and then they indeed came upon a pure, bright spring of water, where they sat down, and drank, and refreshed themselves.

As they sat there, the minister's son was moved with jealousy, for, thought he within himself, in every art this prince has exceeded me, and when we return to our own country, all shall see how superior he is to me in every kind of attainment. Then he said aloud to the king's son,--

"If we keep along this road, which leads over the level plain, where we can be seen ever so far off, may be robbers will see us, and, coming upon us, will slay us. Shall we not rather take the path which leads over the mountain, where the trees will hide us, and pass the night under cover of the wood?" And this he said in order to lead the prince into the forest, that he might slay him there unperceived. But the prince, who had no evil suspicion, willingly agreed to his words, and they took the path of the mountain. When they had well entered the thick wood, the minister's son fell upon the prince from behind, and slew him. The prince in dying said nothing but the one word, "Abaraschika (2)."

As soon as he had well hidden the body, the minister's son continued on his way.

As he came near the city, the King went out to greet him, accompanied by all his ministers, and followed by much people; but when he found that his son was not there, he fell into great anxiety, and eagerly inquired after him. "Thy son," answered the minister's son, "died on the journey."

At these words, the King burst into an agony of grief, crying, "Alas, my son! mine only son! Without thee, what shall all my royal power and state, what shall all my hundred cities, profit me?" Amid these bitter cries he made his way back to the palace. As he dwelt on his grief, the thought came to him, "Shall not my son when dying at least have left some word expressive of his last thoughts and wishes?" Then he sent and inquired this thing of his companion, to which, the minister's son made answer, "Thy son was overtaken with a quick and sudden malady, and as he breathed out his life, he had only time to utter the single word, Abaraschika."

Hearing this the King was fully persuaded the word must have some deep and hidden meaning; but as he was unable to think it out, he summoned all the seers, soothsayers, magicians, and astrologers (3) of his kingdom, and inquired of them what this same word Abaraschika could mean. There was not, however, one of them all that could help him to the meaning. Then said the King, "The last word that my son uttered, even mine only son, this is dear to me. There is no doubt that it is a word in which by all the arts that he had studied and acquired he knew how to express much, though he had not time to utter many words. Ye, therefore, who are also learned in cunning arts ought to be able to tell the interpretation of the same, but if not, then of what use are ye? It were better that ye were dead from off the face of the earth. Wherefore, I give you the space of seven days to search in all your writings and to exercise all your arts, and if at the end of seven days ye are none of you able to tell me the interpretation, then shall I deliver you over to death."

With that he commanded that they should be all secured in an exceeding high fortress for the space of seven days, and well watched that they might not escape.

The seven days passed away, and not one of them was at all nearer telling the interpretation of Abaraschika than on the first day. "Of a certainty we shall all be put to death to-morrow," was repeated all through the place, and some cried to the devas and some sat still and wept, speaking only of the relations and friends they would leave behind.

Meantime, a student of an inferior sort, who waited on the others and learned between whiles, had contrived to escape, not being under such strict guard as his more important brethren. At night-time he took shelter under a leafy tree. As he lay there a bird and its young ones came to roost on the boughs above him. One of the young ones instead of going to sleep went on complaining through the night, "I'm so hungry! I'm so hungry!" At last the old bird began to console it, saying, "Cry not, my son; for to-morrow there will be plenty of food."

"And why should there be more food to-morrow than to-day?" asked the young bird.

"Because to-morrow," answered the mother, "the Khan has made preparations to put a thousand men to death. That will be a feast indeed!"

"And why should he put so many men to death?" persisted the young bird.

"Because," interposed the father, "though they are all wise men, not one of them can tell him such a simple thing as the meaning of the word Abaraschika."

"What does it mean, then?" inquired the young bird.

"The meaning of the word is this: 'This, my bosom friend, hath enticed me into a thick grove, and there, wounding me with a sharp knife, hath taken away my life, and is even now preparing to cut off my head.'" This the old bird told to his young.

The young student, however, hearing these words waited to hear no more, but set off at his best speed towards the tower where all his companions were confined. About daybreak he reached the gates, and made his way in all haste in to them. In the midst of their weeping and lamenting over the morning which they reckoned that of their day of death, he cried out,--

"Weep no more! I have discovered the meaning of the word."

Just then the Khan's guard came to conduct them to the Khan for examination preparatory to their being given over to execution. Here the young student declared to the Khan the meaning of the word Abaraschika. Having heard which the Khan dismissed them all with rich presents, but privately bid them declare to no man the meaning of the word. Then he sent for the minister's son, and without giving him any hint of his intention, bid him go before him and show him where lay the bones of his son, which when he had seen and built a tomb over them, he ordered the minister and his son both to be put to death.

"That Khan's son, so well versed in the five kinds of knowledge, would have been an honour and ornament to his kingdom, had he not been thus untimely cut off," exclaimed the Khan.

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 XVI.

When therefore the Well-and-wise-walking Khan saw that he had again failed in the end and object of his journey, he once more took the way of the cool grove; and having taken the Siddhî-kür captive as before in his bag, in which there was place for a hundred, and made fast the mouth of the same with his cord woven of a hundred threads of different colours, he bore him along to present to his Master and Teacher Nâgârg'una.

And as they went the Siddhî-kür asked him to beguile the way with a tale, or else give the signal that he should tell one. And when the Well-and-wise-walking Khan had given the signal that the Siddhî-kür should tell one, he began after this wise, saying,--

THE WIFE WHO LOVED BUTTER.

Long ages ago there dwelt in the neighbourhood of a city in the north part of India called Taban-Minggan (1) a man and his wife who had no children, and nine cows (2) for all possessions. As the man was very fond of meat he used to kill all the calves as soon as they were born that he might eat them, but the wife cared only for butter. One day when there were no more calves the man took it into his head to slaughter one of the cows; "What does it signify," said he to himself, "whether there are nine or eight?" So he killed one of the cows and ate it. When the meat of this cow was all at an end, he said to himself, "What does it matter whether there are eight cows or seven?" And with that he slaughtered another cow and ate it. When the meat of this cow had come to an end, he said within himself again, "What does it matter whether there are seven cows or six?" and with that he slaughtered another cow and ate it. This he continued doing till there was one only cow left. At last, when the wife saw that there was but one only cow left, she could refrain herself no longer. Determined to save this only cow from being slaughtered, she never let it out of her sight, but wherever she went led it after her by a string.

One day, however, when the man had been drinking well of rice-brandy, and was sound asleep, the wife having to go out to fetch water, she thought it would be safe to leave the cow behind this once; but scarcely was she gone out when the man woke up, and, seeing the cow left alone behind, slaughtered it to eat.

When the woman came back and found the last remaining cow was killed, she lifted up her voice and wept, saying, "What is there now left to me wherewithal to support life, seeing that the last and only cow that remained to us is killed." As she said these words, she turned her in anger and went away, and as she went the man cut off one of the teats of the cow and threw it after her. The woman picked up the teat and took it along with her; but she went along still crying till she came to a cave in a mountain side, where she took shelter. There she cast herself down on the ground, addressing herself in earnest prayer to the Three Precious Treasures (3) and the Ruler of Heaven and Earth, saying, "Now that my old man has brought me to the last extremity, depriving me of all that I had to support life, grant now, ye Three Precious Treasures, and thou Ruler of Heaven and Earth, that I may have in some way that which is needful to support life!" Thus she prayed. Also, she flung from her the teat of the cow which she had in her hand, and behold! it clove to the side of the cave, and when she would have removed it, it would no more be removed, but milk ran therefrom as from the living cow. And the milk thereof was good for making butter, which her soul loved.

Thus she lived in the cave, and was provided with all she desired to support life. One day it befell that the memory of her husband coming over her, she said within herself, "Perhaps, now that the last cow is slaughtered and eaten, my old man may be suffering hunger; who knows!" Thus musing, she filled a sheep's paunch (4) with butter, and went her way to the place where her husband lived, and having climbed on to the roof, she looked down upon him through the smoke-hole (5).

He sat there in his usual place, but nothing was set before him to eat saving only a pan of ashes, which he was dividing with a spoon, saying the while, "This is my portion for to-day;" and "That much I reserve for the portion of to-morrow." Seeing this, the wife threw her paunch of butter hastily through the roof, and then went back to her cave.

Then thought the husband within himself, "Who is there in heaven or earth who would have brought me this butter-paunch but my very wife? who surely has said within herself, 'Perhaps, now that the last cow is slaughtered, my old man is suffering hunger.'" And as every night she thus supplied him with a butter-paunch, he got up at last and followed her by the track of her feet on the snow till he came to the cave where she dwelt. Nevertheless, seeing the teat cleaving to the side of the cave, he could not resist cutting it off to eat the meat thereof. Then he took to him all the store of butter the woman had laid up and returned home; but the wife, finding her place of refuge was known to him, and that he had taken all her store, left the cave and wandered on farther.

Presently she came to a vast meadow well watered by streams, and herds of hinds grazing amid the grass; nor did they flee at her approach, so that she could milk them at will, and once more she could make butter as much as ever she would.

One day it befell that, the memory of her husband coming over her, she said within herself, "Perhaps, now that he will have exhausted all the store of cow-milk-butter, my old man may be suffering hunger; who knows!" So she took a sheep's paunch of the butter made of hind's milk and went to the place where her husband lived. As she looked down upon him through the smoke-hole in the roof, she found him once more engaged sparingly dividing his portions of ashes. So she threw the butter-paunch to him through the smoke-hole and went her way. When she had done this several days, her husband rose and followed her by her track on the snow till he came to where the herd of hinds were grazing. But when he saw so many hinds, he could not resist satisfying his love of meat; only when he had slaughtered many of the hinds, these said one to another, "If we remain here, of a surety we shall all be put to death;" therefore they arose in the night and betook them afar, far off, whither neither the man nor his wife could follow them.

When the wife found her place of refuge was known to her husband, and that he had dispersed her herd of hinds, she left the grassy meadow and wandered on farther.

Presently, a storm coming on, she took shelter in a hole in a rock where straw was littered down; so she laid herself to sleep amid the straw. But the hole was the den of a company of lions, tigers, and bears, and all manner of wild beasts; but they had a hare for watchman at the opening of the hole. At night, therefore, they all came home and laid down, but they perceived not the woman in the straw; only in the night, the woman happening to move, a straw tickled the nose of the hare. Then said the hare to a tiger who lay near him, "What was that?" But the tiger said, "We will examine into the matter when the morning light breaks." When the morning light broke, therefore, they turned up all the straw and found the woman lying. When the tiger and the other beasts saw the woman lying in their straw, they were exceeding wroth, and would have torn her in pieces. But the hare said, "What good will it do you to tear the woman in pieces? Women are faithful and vigilant animals; give her now to me, and I will make her help me watch the cave." So they gave her to the hare, and the hare bade her keep strict watch over the cave, and by no means let any one of any sort enter it; and he treated her well and gave her plenty of game to eat, which the wild beasts brought home to their lair.

Thus she lived in the den of the wild beasts and did the bidding of the hare. One day, however, it befell that, the memory of her husband coming over her, she said within herself, "Perhaps, now that the hinds are all dispersed, my old man may be suffering hunger; who knows!" So she took with her a good provision of game, of which the wild beasts brought in abundance, and went to the place where her husband lived. He sat as before, dividing his portions of ashes; so she threw the game she had brought down through the smoke-hole.

When she had thus provisioned him many days, he said within himself, "Who is there in heaven or earth who should thus provide for me, but only my loving wife?" So the next night he rose up and tracked her by the snow till he came to the den of the wild beasts.

When the wife saw him, she cried, "Wherefore camest thou hither? This is even a wild beasts' lair. Behold, seeing thee they will tear thee in pieces!" But the man would not listen to her word, answering, "If they have not torn thee in pieces, neither will they tear me." Then, when she found that he would not escape, she took him and hid him in the straw. At night, when the wild beasts came home, the hare said to the tiger, "Of a certainty I perceive the scent of some creature which was not here before;" and the tiger answered, "When morning breaks we will examine into the matter." Accordingly, when morning broke they looked over the place, and there in the straw they found the woman's husband. When they saw the man they were all exceedingly wroth, nor could the hare by any means restrain them that they should not tear them both in pieces. "For," said they, "if of one comes two, of two will come four, and of four will come sixteen, and in the end we shall be outnumbered and destroyed, and our place taken from us." So they tore them both in pieces, both the wife and her husband.

"That woman fell a sacrifice to her devotion to her husband, who deserved it not at her hand!" exclaimed the Khan.

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 XVII.

Wherefore the Well-and-wise-walking Khan once more took the way of the cool grove, and brought thence bound the Siddhî-kür, who by the way told him this story, saying--,

THE SIMPLE HUSBAND AND THE PRUDENT WIFE.

In the southern part of India lived a man who had a very large fortune and a very notable wife, but possessing little sense or capacity himself, nor sufficient understanding to think of trading with his fortune. One day a caravan of merchants came by, with whom the wife made some exchanges of merchandize while the husband stood by and looked on. When they were gone, the wife said to him, "Why should not you also go forth and trade even as these merchants trade?" And he willing to do her a pleasure made answer, "Give me wherewithal to trade, and I will see what I can do."

"This is but reasonable," thought the wife. "For how shall he trade except he have some sort of merchandize to trade withal." So she made ready for him an ass to ride, and a camel's burden of rice to trade with, and arms to defend him from robbers, and provisions to sustain him by the way. Thus she sent him forth.

On he rode till he came to the sea-shore, and as he could go no farther he laid him down here at the foot of a high cliff to sleep. Just where he lay was the entrance to a cave which he failed to discover. Towards evening a caravan of merchants travelling by, took shelter in this cave, leaving a bugle lying on the ground near the entrance, that in case of an attack of robbers the first who heard their approach might warn the others.

The man's face being turned, as he lay also towards the entrance of the cave, came very near the mouthpiece of the bugle. About the middle of the night when he was sleeping very heavily he began also to snore, and his breath accidentally entering the bugle gave forth so powerful a note (1), that it woke all the merchants together. "Who sounded the bugle?" asked each. "Not I," "Nor I," "Nor I," answered one and all. "Then it must be the thieves themselves who did it in defiance," said one. "They must be in strong force thus to defy us!" answered another. "We had better therefore make good our escape before they really attack us," cried all. And without waiting to look after their goods, they all ran off for the dear life without so much as looking behind them.

In the morning, finding the merchants did not return, the simple man put together all the merchandize they had left behind them and returned home with it. All the neighbours ran out to see him pass with his train of mules and cried aloud, "Only see what a clever trader! Only see how fortune has prospered him!"

Quite proud of his success and not considering how little merit he had had in the matter, he said, "To-morrow I will go out hunting!" But his wife knowing he had not capacity to have come by all the merchandize except through some lucky chance, and thinking some equally strange adventure might befall him when out hunting, determined to be even with him and to know all that might come to pass.

Accordingly the next day she provided him with a horse and dog, and bow and arrows, and provisions for the way. Only as he went forth, she said, "Beware, a stronger than thou fall not upon thee!" But he, puffed up by his yesterday's success, answered her, "Never fear! There is none can stand against me." And she, smiling to see him thus highminded, made reply, "Nevertheless, the horseman Surja-Bagatur (2) is terrible to deal with. Shouldst thou meet him, stand aside and engage him not, for surely he would slay thee." Thus she warned him. But he mounted his horse and rode away, crying, "Him I fear no more than the rest!"

As soon as she had seen him start the wife dressed herself in man's clothes, and mounting a swift horse (3) she rode round till she came by a different path to the same place as her husband. Seeing him trot across a vast open plain she bore down right upon him at full gallop. The man, too much afraid of so bold a rider to recognize that it was his wife, turned him and fled from before her. Soon overtaking him, however, she challenged him to fight, at the same time drawing her sword. "Slay me not!" exclaimed the simple man, slipping off his horse, "Slay me not, most mighty rider, Surja-Bagatur! Take now my horse and mine arms, and all that I have. Leave me only my life, most mighty Surja-Bagatur!" So his wife took the horse and the arms, and all that he had and rode home.

At night the simple man came limping home footsore and in sorry plight. "Where is the horse and the arms?" inquired his wife as she saw him arrive on foot.