Chapter IX: Part 9

As he was about to slay him like the others, Vikramâditja thought within himself, "After all, it will bring greater fame to overcome him in fair fight than to slay him by stratagem." So he sat down and waited till he came to himself; then he defied him to combat; and when he stood up to fight, he raised his sword and cut him in two.

Then see! of the two halves there arose two men; and when he cut each of these in two, there were four men; and when he cut these in two, there were eight men, who all rushed upon him. Then the Prince transformed himself into eight lions, which roared terribly, and tore the eight men in pieces, and destroyed them utterly.

While this terrible combat was going on, there were frightful convulsions of nature (12): mountains fell in, and in the place where they had stood were level plains; and plains were raised up, and appeared as mountains, water gushed out of them and overran the land, and all the subjects of Gandharva fell senseless on the earth. But when Vikramâditja had made an end of the Schimnus, and resumed his own form again, he made a great offering of incense, and the earth resumed her stability; the people were called back to life, and all was gladness and thanksgiving. All the people, and King Galischa at their head, acknowledged Vikramâditja as their lawful sovereign, and he ascended the throne of his father Gandharva. Then he sent for the Queen-mother, and made the joy of all his people.

When the Sûta had made an end of the narrative of Vikramâditja's youth, he addressed himself to Ardschi-Bordschi, saying,--

"If thou canst boast of being such a King as Vikramâditja, then come and ascend this throne; but if not, then beware, at thy peril, that thou approach it not."

Ardschi-Bordschi then drew near once more to ascend the throne, but two other of the sculptured figures, forsaking their guardant attitude, came forward and warned him back.

Then another Sûta addressed him, saying, "Halt! O Ardschi-Bordschi! As yet thou hast only heard concerning the birth and the youth of Vikramâditja; now hearken, and I will tell thee some of his mighty deeds."

And all the sculptured figures answered together,--

"Halt! O Ardschi-Bordschi!"

THE SÛTA TELLS ARDSCHI-BORDSCHI CONCERNING VIKRAMÂDITJA'S DEEDS.

VIKRAMÂDITJA ACQUIRES ANOTHER KINGDOM.

While Vikramâditja continued to rule over his subjects in justice, and to make them prosperous and happy, another mighty king entered Nirvâna. As he left no son, and as there was no one of his family left, nor any one with any title to be his heir, a youth of the people was elected to fill the throne. The same night that he had been installed on the throne, however, he came to die. The next day another youth was elected, and he also died the same night. And so it was the next night, and the next, and yet no one could divine of what malady all these kings died.

At last the thing reached the ears of Vikramâditja.

Then Vikramâditja arose, and Schalû with him, and disguising themselves as two beggars, they took the way to the capital of this sorely-tried kingdom, to bring it deliverance.

When they came near the entrance of the city, they turned in to rest at a small house by the wayside. Within they found an aged couple, who were preparing splendid raiment for a handsome youth, who was their son; but they cried the while with bitter tears. Then said Vikramâditja,--

"Why do you mourn so bitterly, good people?"

"Our King is dead," replied they, "and as he has left no succession, one of the people was chosen by lot to fill the office of King, but he died the same night; and when another was similarly chosen, he likewise died. Thus it happens every night. Now, to-day the lot has fallen on our son; he will therefore of a certainty die to-night: therefore do we mourn."

Then answered Vikramâditja, "To me and my companion, who are but two miserable beggars, it matters little whether we live or die. Keep your son with you, therefore, and we two will ascend the throne this morning in his place and die to-night in his stead."

But the parents replied, "It is not for us to decide the thing. Behold, the matter stands in the hands of three prudent and experienced ministers, but we will go and bring the proposal before them."

The parents went, therefore, and laid the proposal of the beggars before the three prudent and experienced ministers, who answered them, saying, "If these men are willing to die after reigning but twenty-four hours why should we say them nay? Let them be brought hither to us."

Then the beggars were brought in, and the ministers installed them on the throne, saying to the people, "Hitherto we have been accustomed to meet together early in the morning to bury our King. But this time, as we shall have two kings to bury instead of one, see that you come together right early."

Vikramâditja meantime set himself to examine all the affairs of the kingdom, that he might discover to what was to be ascribed the death of the King every night. And when he had well inquired into every matter, he found that it had formerly been the custom of the King to make every night a secret offering (1) to the devas, and to the genii of earth and water, and to the eight kinds of spirits, but that the succeeding kings had neglected the sacrifice, and therefore the spirits had slain them. Then the most high and magnanimous king Vikramâditja appointed out of the royal treasury what was necessary to pay for the accustomed offering; then he called upon the spirits and offered the sacrifice. The spirits, delighted to see their honour return, made the king a present of a handsome Mongolian tent and went up again.

The people, too, who had come together early in the morning, with much wood to make the funeral obsequies of the Kings, were filled with delight to find the spell broken, and in return they gave him the jewel Dsching, filling the air with their cries of gladness and gratitude, calling him the King decreed by fate to rule over them. Thus Vikramâditja became their King.

VIKRAMÂDITJA MAKES THE SILENT SPEAK.

While now Vikramâditja reigned over all his people in justice and equity complaint was brought before him against one of his ministers, that he oppressed the people and dealt fraudulently with them; and Vikramâditja, having tried his cause, judged him worthy of death. But when he was brought before him to receive sentence he pleaded for life so earnestly that the magnanimous King answered him, "Why should the life of the most abject be taken? Let him but be driven forth from the habitation of men."

So they drove him forth from the habitation of men. Now it had been the minister's custom, in pursuance of a vow, to observe three fast-days every month (1). And so it happened, that one day after they had driven him forth from the habitations of men, on the day succeeding one of his fasts, he found himself quite without any thing to eat; nor could he discover any fruit or any herb which could serve as a means of subsistence. Recollecting, then, that one day he had made four little offering-tapers out of wax and bread crumbs, he went and searched out the shrine where he had offered them, that he might take them to eat. But see! when he stretched forth his hand to take one of them it glided away from before him and hid itself behind another of the offering-tapers; and when he would have taken that one, they both hid themselves behind the third. And when he stretched forth his hand to have taken the third, the three together, in like manner, glided behind the fourth. And when he stretched forth his hand to have taken the four together, they all glided away together from off the altar and out of the shrine altogether, and so swiftly that it was as much as he could do to follow after them and keep them in sight. Going on steadily behind them he came at last to a cave of a rock, and brushwood growing over it. Herein they disappeared. Then when he would have crept in after them into the cave of the rock, two he-goats, standing over the portal of the cave, sculptured in stone, spoke to him, saying, "Beware, and enter not! for this is a place of bad omen. Within this cave sits the beauteous Dâkinî (2) Tegrijin Nâran (3) sunk in deep contemplation and speaketh never. Whoso can make her open her lips twice to speak to man, to him is the joy given to bear her home for his own. But let it not occur to thee to make the bold attempt of inducing her to open her lips to speak, for already five hundred sons of kings have tried and failed; and behold they all languish in interminable prison at the feet of the Silent Haughty One, sunk in deep contemplation."

And as they spoke they bent low their heads, and pointed their horns at him, to forbid him the entrance.

The minister, however, had no mind to try the issue, but rather seized with a great panic he turned him and fled without so much as heeding whither his steps led him. Thus running he chanced to come with his head at full butt against the magnanimous King Vikramâditja, just then taking his walk abroad.

"How now, evil man?" exclaimed the magnanimous King. "Whence comest thou, fleeing as from an evil conscience?"

Then the minister prostrated himself before him, and told him all he had learnt from the two he-goats sculptured in stone, concerning Naran-Dâkinî.

When Vikramâditja had heard the story, he commanded that the evil minister should be guarded, to see whether the event proved that he had spoken the truth; but, taking with him Schalû and three far-sighted and experienced ministers, he went on till he came to the cave and saw the two he-goats sculptured in stone standing over the portal. The he-goats would have made the same discourse to him as to the evil minister, but he commanded them silence. Then he transformed Schalû into an aramâlâ (4) in his hand, but the three ministers into the altar that stood before the Dâkinî, and the lamp that burned thereon, and the granite vessel for burning incense placed at the foot of the same (5); laying this charge upon them: "I will come in," said he, "as though a wayfarer who knew you not, and sitting down I will tell a saga of olden time. Then all of you four give an interpretation of my saga quite perverse from the real meaning, and if the Dâkinî be prudent and full of understanding she will open her lips to speak to vindicate the right meaning of the story."

Presently, therefore, after he had completed the transformation of Schalû and the three far-seeing and experienced ministers, and having himself assumed the appearance of a king on his travels, he entered the cave and sat down over against the altar which stood before the Dâkinî Naran, the Silent Haughty One, sunk in deep contemplation. Then said he, "In that it was told me in this place dwells the all-fair Tegrijin Naran-Dâkinî, I, who am King of Gambudvîpa, am come hither to visit her;" and as he spoke he looked furtively up towards the Dâkinî, to see whether he had moved her to open her lips to speak.

But the all-beauteous Naran-Dâkinî, the Silent Haughty One, sat still and gave forth no sign.

Then spoke the King again, saying, "On occasion of this my coming, O Naran-Dâkinî, tell thou me one of the sagas of old; or else, if thou prefer to hold thy peace, then will I tell one to thee!"

Again he looked up, but Naran-Dâkinî Tegrijin, the Silent Haughty One, sat sunk in deep contemplation and gave forth no sign.

As the King paused, one of the far-seeing and experienced ministers, even the one whom he had transformed into the altar that stood before the Dâkinî, spoke, saying,--

"While from the lips of the all-beauteous Naran-Chatun (6) no word of answer proceeds, how should it beseem me, the Altar, a non-souled object, to speak. Nevertheless, seeing that so great and magnanimous a King has come hither and has propounded a question, I will yet dare, even I, to answer him. For, seeing that Naran-Chatun is so immersed in her own contemplations, she cannot give ear to the words of the King, I who, standing all the day before her in silence, and hearing no word of wisdom in any of the sagas of old, even I would fain be instructed by the words of the King."

And as the altar thus spoke, Naran Tegrijin Dâkinî cast a glance of scorn upon it, but the Silent Haughty One opened never her lips to speak.

Then the King took up his parable and poured forth one of the sagas of old after this manner, saying,--

WHO INVENTED WOMAN? (7)

"Long ages ago there went forth daily into one place four youths out of four tribes, to mind their flocks, one youth out of each tribe, and when their flocks left them leisure they amused themselves with pastimes together. Now it came to pass that one day one of them rising earlier than the rest, and finding himself at the place all alone, said within himself,--

"'How is the time weary, being here all alone!'

"And he took wood and sculptured it with loving care until he had fashioned a form like to his own, and yet not alike. And when he saw how brave a form he had fashioned, he cared no more to sport with the other shepherd youths, but went his way.

"The next morning the second of the youths rose earlier than the rest, and, coming to the place all alone, said within himself,--

"'How is the time weary, being here all alone!'

"And he cast about him for some pastime, and thus he found the form which the first youth had fashioned, and, finding it exceeding brave, he painted it over with the five colours, and when he saw how fair a form he had painted he cared no more to sport with the other shepherd youths, but went his way.

"The next morning the third of the youths rose earlier than the rest, and, coming to the place all alone, said within himself,--

"'How is the time weary, being here all alone!'

"And he cast about him for some pastime, and thus he discovered the form which the first youth had fashioned and the second youth had painted, and he said,--

"'This figure is beautiful in form and colour, but it has no wit or understanding' So he infused into it wit and understanding.

"And when he saw how clever was the form he had endowed with wit and understanding, he cared no more to sport with the shepherd youths, and he went his way.

"The fourth morning the fourth of the youths rose up the earliest, and, finding himself all alone at the trysting-place, said within himself,--

"'How is the time weary, being here all alone!'

"And, casting about to find some pastime, he discovered the form which the first youth had fashioned so brave, and the second youth had painted so fair, and the third youth had made so clever in wit and understanding, and he said,--

"'Behold the figure is beautiful in form and fair to behold in colour, and admirable for wit and understanding, but what skills all this when it hath not life?' And he put his lips to the lips of the figure and breathed softly into them, and behold it had a soul (8) that could be loved, and was woman.

"And when he saw her he loved her, and he cared no more to sport with the shepherd youths, but left all for her, that he might be with her and love her.

"But when the other shepherd youths saw that the figure had acquired a soul that could be loved, and was woman, they came back all the three and demanded possession of her by right of invention.

"The first youth said, 'She is mine by right of invention, because I fashioned her out of a block of wood that had had no form but for me.'

"The second said, 'She is mine by right of invention, because I painted her, and she had worn no tints fair to behold but for me.'

"The third said, 'She is mine by right of invention, because I gave her wit and understanding, and she had had no capacity for companionship but for me.'

"But the fourth said, 'She is mine by right of invention, because I breathed into her a soul that could be loved, nor was there any enjoyment in her but for me.'

"And while they all joyed in the thought of possessing her, they continued to strive on that they might see which should prevail. And when they found that none prevailed against the rest, they brought the matter before the King for him to decide.

"Say now therefore, O Naran-Dâkinî, I charge thee, in favour of which of these four was the King bound to decide that he had invented woman?"

And as the King left off from speaking he looked towards Naran-Dâkinî as challenging her to answer.

But Naran-Dâkinî, the Silent Haughty One, sat immersed in deep contemplation and held her peace, speaking never a word.

Then when the far-sighted and experienced ministers saw that she held her peace, one of them, even the one whom Vikramâditja had transformed into the lamp before the altar, spoke, saying,--

"It were meet indeed that an unsouled object such as I, the Lamp, should not venture to speak in presence of our mistress, Naran-Chatun. But as so great a King has come to visit us, and has propounded to us a question to which Naran-Chatun does not see fit to reply, even I, the Lamp, will attempt to answer him. To me, then, it seems that the answer is clear, for by whom could the figure be said to be invented saving by the youth who first fashioned it? He who gave a mere block of wood a beautiful form must be allowed to have invented it."

Naran-Dâkinî cast a glance of disgust and scorn upon the lamp, yet spoke she never a word.

Then spoke the far-seeing and experienced minister whom Vikramâditja had transformed into the thurible at the foot of the altar, saying,--

"It were meet indeed that an unsouled object such as I, the Incense-burner, should not venture to speak in presence of our mistress, Naran-Chatun. But as so great a King has come to visit us, and has propounded a question to us to which Naran-Chatun does not see fit to reply, even I, the Thurible, will attempt to answer him. And to me indeed the answer is plain, for to whom could the figure be said to belong, if not to the youth who painted it and made a mere stump beautiful and lifelike with fair tints of colour?"

At these words of the incense-vessel Naran-Dâkinî cast upon it a look of scorn and contempt, but opened not her lips to speak.

Then spoke Schalû, whom Vikramâditja had transformed into his aramâlâ, with impetuosity, saying, "Nay, but surely he alone could have the right of invention who endowed a painted log with wit and understanding. Surely he who made a stump of a tree to think must be allowed to have invented it."

When Naran-Dâkinî saw with what a confident air the aramâlâ pronounced this sentence, even as though he had settled the whole matter, she could contain herself no longer, and then burst from her lips these words, while her eyes lighted on the objects that had spoken with exceeding indignation,--

"Of miserable understanding are ye all! How then venture ye, unsouled objects, to expound the matter when I, a reasonable being, scarcely dare pronounce upon the question? What other interpretation of this parable, however, can there be than this:--The youth who first fashioned the figure of a block of wood, did not he stand in place of the father? He who painted it with tints fair to behold, did not he stand in place of the mother? He who gave wit and understanding, is not he the Lama? But he who gave a soul that could be loved, was it not he alone who made woman? To whom, therefore, else should she have belonged by right of invention? And to whom should woman belong if not to her husband?"

Thus Tegrijin Naran Dâkinî had been brought to speak once; but the proposition requiring that the Silent Haughty One should speak twice to man, the magnanimous King proceeded without making allusion to his first success, saying,--

"Now that I have told a saga of old, it is the turn that one of you should also tell us a tale to entertain the mind." And as he spoke he addressed himself to Naran-Dâkinî. Nevertheless Naran-Dâkinî had entered again into her deep contemplation, and held her peace, saying never a word.

Then said the far-seeing and experienced minister whom the King had transformed into the altar,--

"As Naran-Chatun continues to sit in her place and to utter no sound in answer to the word of the high King who has come so far to visit us, even I, though I be an unsouled object, will venture to reply, asking him that he will again open to us the treasures of story."

At these words Naran-Dâkinî cast a meaning glance upon her altar, but spoke not.

Then opened the magnanimous King again the treasures of story.

THE VOICE-CHARMER (9).

"Long ages ago two were travelling through a mountainous country, a man and his wife. And behold as they journeyed there reached them from the other side of a rock a voice of such surpassing sweetness that the two stood still to listen, the man and his wife; and not they only, but their very beasts pricked up their ears erect to drink in the sound.

"Then spoke the woman,--

"'A man with a voice so melodious must be a man goodly to see. Shall we not stop and find him out?'"

"But the saying pleased not her husband, nor was he minded that she should see who it was that sang so sweetly; therefore he answered her,--

"'Wherefore should we search him out; is it not enough that we hear his voice?'

"When the wife had heard his answer, she said no more about searching out whence the voice proceeded; only the first time they passed a mountain-rill she said to her husband,--

"'Behold, I faint for thirst in this heat. Now, as thou lovest me, fetch me a draught of that cool water from the mountain-rill.' So the man got down from his horse, and, taking his wife's cup (10), went to the rill to fetch water.

"While he was thus occupied, the wife slid down from off her horse also, and, going silently behind him, pushed him over the precipice and killed him. Then she set out to find out who it was sang so melodiously. When she had followed up the sound she found herself in presence, not of a man goodly to behold, but of a wretched, loathsome object, sunk down against the foot of the rock, deformed in person and covered with sores. Notwithstanding that the undeception was so revolting, she yet took him up on her back and carried him with her; but as the man was heavy and the way steep, the fatigue so wearied her that at the end of a little time she died.

"Was this woman to be counted a good woman or a bad?"

When the King had made an end of telling the tale, he looked towards Naran-Dâkinî as challenging her to answer.

But Naran-Dâkinî held her peace and spoke never a word.

Then, when the far-seeing and experienced minister whom Vikramâditja had transformed into the lamp saw that she yet held her peace, he said,--

"How should an unsouled being such as I, the Lamp, find out the right meaning? nevertheless, not to leave the words of the high King without an answer, I will even venture to suggest that to me it seemeth she must be counted a good woman; because though she killed her husband, yet she made atonement for her fault by raising the sick man and carrying him with her--"

But before he could make an end of speaking Naran-Dâkinî cast at him a glance of contempt and scorn, and she exclaimed,--

"How should there be any good in a woman who killed her lawful husband, and that only because her ears were tickled with the artful melody of an harmonious voice? Of a truth she must have been a veritable schimnu, and if she took the sick man with her, was it not only that she might devour him at leisure?"

Then spoke Vikramâditja,--

"Naran-Chatun! being he who hath induced thee to open thy lips to speak these two times to man, give me my guerdon that thou accompany me home to be my wife."

Very willingly coming down from her altar, Tegrijin Naran Dâkinî at these words gave herself to Vikramâditja to accompany him home to be his wife.

Vikramâditja having then given back to Schalû and to his three far-seeing and experienced ministers their natural shapes, and to the five hundred sons of kings who had failed in winning Naran-Dâkinî theirs, with Naran-Dâkinî by his side, and all the rest in a long procession behind him, the King arrived at his capital. Here he called together all his people Tai-tsing (11) to a great assembly, where he promulgated rules of faith and religion. By his good government he made all his people so happy as no other sovereign ever did, sitting upon his throne with his consort Tegrijin Naran as the fate-appointed rulers.

When the Sûta had made an end of this narration of Vikramâditja's deeds, he addressed himself to Ardschi-Bordschi, saying,--

"If thou canst boast, of being such a King as Vikramâditja, then come and ascend this throne, but if not, then beware at thy peril that thou approach it not."

Now Ardschi-Bordschi had seventy-one wives; taking by the hand the chief of them therefore, he bid her make obeisance before the throne and ascend it with him. Ere they had set foot on the first step two other of the sculptured figures came forward, forsaking their guardant attitude, and warned him back, the warrior smiting him in the breast, and the Sûta thus addressing him,--

"Halt! O Ardschi-Bordschi, and thou his wife! nor touch so much as with thy prostrate heads the sacred steps. But first know what manner of woman was the chief wife of Vikramâditja.

"The chief wife of Vikramâditja was Tsetsen Budschiktschi (12), and she never had a word, or look, or thought but for her husband. If thy wife be such a princess as she, then draw near to ascend the throne together, but if otherwise, then at your peril draw not near it.

"But," he said furthermore, "hearken, and I will tell you, who have seventy-one wives, the story of what befell seventy-one parrots and the wife of another high King to whom one of them was counsellor."

And all the sculptured figures answered together,--

"Halt! O Ardschi-Bordschi!"

THE SÛTA TELLS ARDSCHI-BORDSCHI CONCERNING THE SEVENTY-ONE PARROTS AND THEIR ADVISER.

Long ages ago the wife of a high King was ill with a dire illness, nor could the art of any physician suffice to cure her till one came who said, "Let there be given her parrots' brains to eat."

When, therefore, the high King saw that eating parrots' brains brought health it seemed good to him to take a tribute of parrots' brains from his subjects.

He called unto him, therefore, the governor of a tributary province and commanded him, saying, "Let there be delivered to me a tribute of the brains of seventy-one parrots, otherwise thou must die the death."

That governor went out therefore trembling with fear, and he called unto him immediately a birdcatcher and agreed with him for the price of the brains of seventy-one parrots.

Now the birdcatcher knew a certain tree in which there roosted every night seventy-one parrots, and he said within himself, "If I could spread one net over the whole tree, with one haul the whole affair would be finished." So he went and bought a great net ready to spread over the whole tree.

But among these seventy-one parrots was one parrot exceeding wise, who was always on the watch to see what the birdcatcher was about. When, therefore, he saw him buy so great a net he said to his companions, "To what end can the man have bought so big a net if not to spread round the whole tree? let us, therefore, in future roost on yonder rock." After this they went to roost on the rock. After they had roosted four or five nights on the rock the wise parrot caught sight of the birdcatcher prowling about, having followed them thither and being engaged in settling in his own mind how he should lay his nets. Then the wise parrot said to his companions, "The man has come hither after us even to this rock; let us now, therefore, avoid his snares by roosting in some other place."

But his companions, instead of accepting his counsel were provoked, and answered him, saying, "How are we to endure thus changing our place of roosting every night. We left our tree which sheltered us well and came to this rock to please thy fancy; and now thou wouldst have us make another change. But we will no more listen to thy suspicions."

They roosted, therefore, still upon the rock, and that night the birdcatcher came with his nets and encompassed them all.

When they woke and found themselves imprisoned, loud were their shrieks of lamentation as they fluttered and beat their wings fruitlessly against the net; calling also on the wise parrot, saying, "You who were so wise in foreseeing the danger, have you no means for delivering us out of it?"

"Yes," replied the wise parrot, "I have thought of that. Leave off every one of you from shrieking and fluttering about, and beating your wings against the net, which is a new one and not the least likely to give way. On the contrary, lie all of you on your backs with your heads hanging as if you were dead. The birdcatcher being satisfied you are dead will not kill you over again. Then observe and see that the approach to this one rock is very narrow, and when a man comes up it there is only just room for one foot-hold at the ledge whence he can reach us, and it is as much as he can do to get up and down with the use of both his hands as well as his feet; he will not, therefore, go to carry us down or put us in a bag, but will throw us one by one over the cliff, and sure enough he will say out the number as he throws each down. Let, therefore, those who are thrown down first remain still lying without motion so that he may not suspect any of the rest are alive, only when he says out the number, 'Seventy-one!' then up and away, as at a signal of a race."

The other parrots did not venture to dispute the word of the wise parrot this time, but all did exactly as he had said. When the birdcatcher came and found what a steep rugged path he had to climb he vowed all sorts of vengeance on the parrots for giving him so much fatigue, and swore that he would break all their bones, for the brain was the only part he cared to keep uninjured. When he had got up to the ledge of rock by which he could reach them, however, and found that they seemed already stone dead, seeing that to wreak any vengeance on creatures that could not feel would be childish, he contented himself with throwing them below one by one, calling out as he did so the number to each. In this way he had thrown over the seventy; last of all there remained the wise parrot, but the net having fallen upon him he was rather longer loosing him than the rest, so that he had called out "Seventy-one" before he was ready to throw him down, moreover, his whetstone happening at that same instant to tumble out of his girdle, the other parrots took the sound of its fall for that of the wise parrot, and all of them together they spread their wings and flew far away.

The birdcatcher saw this in time before he had let go his hold of the wise parrot.

"Ah! vile, cunning parrots," he exclaimed in great wrath and indignation, "what labour have you given me, and at last I have no benefit for my exertion! One, at least, of you is still in my power, and on him will I be avenged for the mischief of all the rest; I will take him home and torture him at leisure, and then cook him alive. The wise parrot heard all this, but thought to wait till his fury was a little spent. But finding as time wore on the man only got more and more wroth; and the matter beginning to get serious, as they were coming near his dwelling, the wise parrot at last said, "What end will it serve that thou kill me? It will not bring the other parrots back--and, indeed, what grudge hast thou against me? I never killed thee at any former time (1) that thou shouldst now kill me. Thou hast attacked my life, and I have defended it by fair dealing. Other grudge against me hast thou none; then why shouldst thou seek to maim and injure me? Moreover, if thou do, be sure that the day will come (2) when I should repay thee. But now, if thou sell me who am a wise and understanding parrot, thou shalt receive for my price 100 ounces of silver, and if with seventy-one ounces thou buy seventy-one other parrots for him who hired thee there will still remain twenty-nine ounces with which thou mayest make merry with all thy friends and acquaintance."

When, therefore, the birdcatcher found he was a wise and understanding parrot, he took him and sold him to a rich merchant for 100 ounces of silver.

The merchant also, who bought the parrot, finding him so wise and full of understanding, employed him in all sorts of ways to watch over his belongings. At last, one day he came and said to the parrot, "Hitherto thou hast done me good service in watching over the merchandize, and I have regarded thee as my brother, now, therefore, that I go on a journey of seventy-one days I entreat thee to watch over, as a sister-in-law, my wife, who is very gay and thoughtless.

The wise parrot answered, "Be of good heart, brother, all shall be right in thine absence."

At which the merchant replied, "If thou sayest so, brother Parrot, I can go forth on my journey without anxieties."

He had not been gone long when his young wife rose up, saying, "Now indeed I am for once my own mistress: I will go out and see all my friends, and particularly those I dare not visit when my husband is here." So she arrayed herself in all her gayest attire. But when she would have gone out the parrot stopped her, saying, "Wait, sister-in-law. A wife behoves it rather to set her household affairs in order, than to go abroad paying visits when her husband is absent."

"Bad parrot!" exclaimed the wife, "what hast thou to do to hinder my taking a little pleasure?"

The parrot answered, "Thy husband when he went away gave me strict charge over thee, saying, 'I command thee that thou hinder her from going forth alone.' This, however, it is not in me to do, for thou art greater in might than I; and if I command thee not to go thou wilt not obey by words. Only now, therefore, before thou goest out sit down first and listen to the story that I will tell thee."

When the wife heard him promise to tell a story, she sat down, for she loved to listen to the stories of the wise parrot.

Then the parrot began to tell her a story in this wise.

HOW NARAN GEREL SWORE FALSELY AND YET TOLD THE TRUTH.

"Long ages ago there lived a King named Tsoktu Ilagukssan (3), who had one only daughter, whom he kept as the apple of his eye, and guarded so jealously that she never saw any thing or any body. If any man went near her apartment his legs were immediately broken and his eyes put out. So relentless was the command of the King.

"One day Naran Gerel (4), such was the daughter's name, however, came to her father, saying, "Being shut up here all day seeing nothing and no man, my life is weariness unto me. Let me now go abroad on the fifteenth of the month, that I may see something."

"But the King would not listen to her; only as she continued day by day urging her request, the King at last gave permission that on a certain day she might go abroad; but he gave orders also at the same time that on that day every bazaar should be shut, every window closed, and that all men, women, and beasts should be shut up close out of sight of the Princess; and that whoso walked abroad, or but looked out of window should be punished with death.

"On the fifteenth of the month, therefore, a new chariot was appointed to Naran Gerel, and she went forth surrounded by a train of her maidens, and drove all through the city; every bazaar being shut up, every window closed, and all men, women, and beasts within doors out of sight.

"Nevertheless, the King's minister Ssaran (5), overcome by his curiosity to see the Princess, had gone up to the highest window of his house, to obtain a glimpse of her unperceived. But what care soever he took to be seen of none, the Princess, in her anxiety to make the best use of her eyes on this her one opportunity of seeing the world, discerned him.

"Never having seen any man but her father, who was already well stricken in years, the appearance of the Minister, who was still young, so charmed her that she instantly conceived a desire to see more of him, and accordingly made a sign to him by raising the first finger of her right hand and marking a circle round it with the other hand; then clasping both hands tight together and throwing them open again, finally laying one finger of each hand together and pointing with them towards the palace.

"Very much perplexed at finding himself discovered by the Princess, Ssaran came down; and when his wife saw him looking so bewildered, she inquired of him, saying, 'Hast thou seen the Princess?'

"'Not only have I seen the Princess,' replied Ssaran, 'but she hath seen me; and made all manners of signs, of which I understand nothing, but that of course they were to threaten some dreadful chastisement.'

"'And of what nature were the signs, then?' further inquired his wife; and when he had described them to her, she replied,--

"'These signs by no means betoken threatening. Listen, and I will tell thee the interpretation of the same. In that she raised the first finger of the right hand on high, she signified that in the neighbourhood of her dwelling is a shady tree; that with the other hand she described a circle round it, showed that the garden where the tree stands is surrounded by a high wall; that she clasped both hands together and then threw them open again, said, "Come unto me in the garden of flowers;" and the laying of one finger of each hand together, said, "May we be able to meet?"'

"'This were very well,' replied Ssaran, 'were the King's decree not so terrible, and his wrath so unsparing.'

"But his wife answered him, 'When a King's daughter calls, can fear stand in the way? Go now at her bidding, only take this jewel with thee.'

"Ssaran accepted his wife's counsel, and, stowing the jewel away in a safe place in the folds of his robe, betook himself to the shady tree in the garden of the Princess. Here he found the Princess awaiting him, and they spent the day happily together.

"Towards evening, just as Ssaran was about to take leave of the Princess, they suddenly found themselves surrounded by a hundred armed men, whom the captain that the King had set over the garden had sent to take them both prisoners. Into a dark dungeon they were accordingly thrown to await the King's decree saying by what manner of means they should be put to death.

"Naran Gerel, who had been used to see every one obey her and bow before her, desired the men to let her go home to her father; but the captain said, 'How many men have suffered maiming and death for nothing but because they have ventured near the precincts of thine apartment! Now therefore it is thy turn that thou be put to death also. So will there be an end of this peril to the King's subjects.'

"When Naran Gerel found she could prevail nothing with the captain, she turned to Ssaran and entreated him that he should devise some way of escape; but, sunk in fear and apprehension of the King's terrible anger, he could not collect his ideas.

"'How comes it,' then inquired the Princess, 'that if thou hast so little presence of mind as thou now displayest, thou wert able to distinguish and unravel, and find courage to follow, the tokens that I gave thee with my hands as I drove along the way?'

"'That,' said he, 'I discovered by the sharp wit of my wife, who also gave me courage to obey thy call.'

"'And did she furnish thee with knowledge and courage, and yet send thee forth with no sort of talisman?' said Naran Gerel.

"'She gave me nothing but this jewel,' replied the minister; 'and of what use can that be?'

"The Princess, however, took the jewel, and, throwing it out of window, cried to the guard, 'Ye men who are set to guard us, give ear. To persons sentenced to death is a jewel of no further use; take it one of you to whom it is permitted to live, only let whichever of you takes it in possession do us this service, that he go to the house of the minister Ssaran, and knock three times at the door.'

"One of the guard therefore took the jewel, and went and knocked three times at the door of the minister Ssaran. But the wife of the minister, knowing by this token that her husband was thrown into prison together with Naran Gerel, the King's daughter, made haste and attired herself in her finest apparel, and filled a basket with all manner of juice-giving fruits. With these she came to the gate of the prison where her husband was held bound, and spoke thus to the captain of the guard,--

"'My husband being stricken with the fever, the physician hath ordered that I take these fruits to him;' and the captain of the guard made answer, 'If this be so, then take the fruits in to him, but loiter not; return in all speed.' As soon as the wife entered the prison she changed dresses hastily with Naran Gerel, bidding her escape and go hence privately to her own apartment, while she remained beside her husband.

"In the meantime morning had come, and the King and all his court and his judges were astir, and before all other causes the captain of the guard went to give account of the arrest of Naran Gerel and the minister Ssaran. The high King was very wroth when he heard what his daughter had done and the minister, and commanded that they should instantly be brought before him. So the captain of the guard went straight to the prison, and without waiting so much as to look at them brought the two prisoners before the throne of the King.

"When the King saw the minister and his wife standing before him, he asked them in a voice of thunder,--

"'Where is Naran Gerel?'

"And the minister's wife made answer,--

"'How can we tell thee this thing, seeing we have been kept in durance all through the night?'

"'And wherefore have ye been kept in durance all through the night?' pursued the King.

"'Concerning that also we know nothing further than that the captain of the guard told us it was by the King's decree,' replied the woman.

"'Explain this matter,' then said the King, addressing the minister. And he, his wife telling him what to say, made answer, 'Most high King, how shall I explain the matter, seeing that I myself fail to know why we were arrested? My wife desired to see the garden of the King, and I, thinking it was not beyond a minister's privilege, took her yesterday to walk there, and we spent the day together under the shady tree. For this were we put in prison.'

"The King then spoke to the captain of the guard, saying, 'Shall not a man pass the day in a garden with his wife? Wherefore should they be put in prison? Behold, since thou hast done this thing, thy life is in this man's hand.' And he delivered the captain of the guard to the minister to deal with him as he listed.

"But the captain of the guard said, 'For observing the King's decree am I to be put to death? Before I die, however, let this justice be done. Let Naran Gerel be summoned hither, and let her say on the trial of barley-corns whether it was not she whom I arrested in the King's garden.'

"So the King sent and called Naran Gerel and bid her say on the trial of barley-corns whether it were not she whom the captain of the guard had arrested in the King's garden.

"But Naran Gerel answered, 'Am I not then the King's daughter? How should I, then, make the trial of barley-corns like one of the common herd of the people? But call me an assembly, and before the assembly I will swear. Shall not that suffice for the King's daughter?' But this she said because in the trial of barley-corns if one speak falsely the barley-corns will surely spring into the air and burst with a loud noise; but if truth, then only they remain quiet. Naran Gerel therefore feared to make the trial of barley-corns.

"But the King said, 'The words that Naran Gerel hath spoken are words of justice. Let an assembly be called.' So they called together an assembly, Naran Gerel having exchanged glances with the minister's wife agreeing how they should proceed.

"Meantime the minister and his wife went home. The wife therefore stained her husband all over with a black stain so that he looked quite black, and she said to him, 'When the time comes that the Princess has to take the oath in the assembly, do thou find thyself there doubled up and making unmeaning grimaces and uncouth antics with an empty water-pitcher. Perhaps the Princess will find the means to escape hereby out of the judgment that threatens her.'

"The assembly was now gathered. The King was on his throne, and Naran Gerel stood at its foot; and the minister, under the form of a crippled beggar, black and loathsome to behold, was there also.

"Then the King called upon Naran Gerel to take the oath. And first espying the pretended cripple, he commanded, saying, 'Let that revolting object be removed;' and all the people loathed him. But the minister, who acted the part of a cripple, only mouthed and wriggled the more, and would not be removed, and as he threatened to make a disturbance the King bid them unhand him again.

"But Naran Gerel stood forward, saying, 'Whereon shall I take this oath? On the barley-corns it beseemeth not the King's daughter to swear even as a common wench. And if I swear on any well-looking man in this assembly, I shall run danger of having the former accusation brought against me again. I will therefore swear by this cripple whom all have loathed. Those who would accuse me to the utmost cannot see any offence if I swear by an object so ungainly and revolting.'

"By this means, as she had sworn by a cripple who was no cripple, she counted that it was no oath, while the King and all the people were satisfied she had spoken the truth. The captain of the guard was handed over to the minister's pleasure, who let him go free, and the minister and Naran Gerel were pronounced innocent."

"The wife of the minister Ssaran was a devoted wife, well-being and true to her husband," said the wise parrot when he had finished this tale. "If, therefore, thou art devoted and brave even as the wife of the minister Ssaran, then go abroad and pay visits according to thy desire; but if not, then beware that thou set not foot outside the door."

After these words the merchant's wife gave up her intention of going out, and remained at home. And thus the wise parrot dealt with her every day of the seventy-one days that the merchant was absent.

Then said the Sûta further to Ardschi-Bordschi, "If thy wife, O Ardschi-Bordschi! is worthy to be compared to the wife of the minister Ssaran, not to mention the comparison with Tsetsen Büdschiktschi, wife of the magnanimous King Vikramâditja, then may she prostrate herself with her forehead upon the foot of this throne; but if not, then on her peril let her not approach it."

NOTES.

PREFACE.

1. Kalmuck. "The Khalmoucks or Calmuks, are very far from enjoying in Asia the importance our books of geography assign them. In the Khalmoukia of our imagining, no one knew of the Khalmouks. At last we met with a Lama who had travelled in Eastern Tibet, and he told us that one of the Kolo tribes is called Khalmouk." The Kolos are a nomad people of Eastern Tibet, of predatory habits, living in inaccessible gorges of the Bayen Kharet mountains, guarded by impassable torrents and frightful precipices, towards the sources of the Yellow River; they only leave their abode to scour the steppes on a mission of pillage upon the Mongolians. The Mongolians of the Koukou-Noor (Blue Lake) hold them in such terror, that there is no monstrous practice they do not ascribe to them. They profess Buddhism equally with the Mongolians. See "Missionary Travels in Tartary, Tibet, and China," by Abbé Huc, vol. i. chap. iv.

2. "The various Dekhan dialects, i.e. of the Tuluvas, Malabars, Tamuls, Cingalese, of the Carnatic, &c., though greatly enriched from Sanskrit, would appear to have an entirely independent origin. The same may be said of the popular traditions." Lassen, vol. i. 362-364.

3. The Tirolean legend of the Curse of the Marmolata, which I have given at pp. 278-335 of "Household Stories from the Land of Hofer," may well be thought to be a reproduction and reapplication of this, one of the most ancient of myths.

4. Even the Mahâ Bhârata, however, gives no consecutive and reliable account of the original settlement in the country. Franz Bopp, one of the earliest to attempt its translation, thus happily describes it. He likens it to an Egyptian obelisk covered with hieroglyphics, "an dem die Grundform von der Erde zum Himmel strebe, aber eine Fülle von Gestalten, (von denen eine auf die andre deute, eine ohne die andre räthselhaft bleibe,) neben und durch einander hinziehe und Irdisches und Himmlisches wundersam verbinde."--The pervading plan of the work is one straining from earth upwards to heaven, but overlaid with a multiplicity of figures, each one so intimately related with the other, that any would be incomprehensible without the rest; the thread of the life of one interwoven with those of the others, and all of them together creating a wondrous bond between the things of this world and the things which are above.

5. "The only way to gain acquaintance with the early history of India is by making use of its Sagas." Lassen, Indische Alterthumskunde, vol. i., pref. p. vii. But I shall have more to say on this head when I come to the story of Vikramâditja.