Chapter V (4)

Notwithstanding these brave and boastful words he was in reality very much afraid, having heard of Rasalu’s renown. And learning that he was stopping at the house of an old woman in the city, till the hour of playing chaupur arrived, Sarkap sent slaves to him with trays of sweetmeats and fruit, as to an honored guest. But the food was poisoned.

Now, when the slaves brought the trays to Rajah Rasalu, he rose up haughtily, saying: “Go tell your master I have naught to do with him in friendship. I am his sworn enemy, and I eat not of his salt!”

So saying, he threw the sweetmeats to Rajah Sarkap’s dog, which had followed the slaves, and lo! the dog died.

Then Rasalu was very wroth, and said bitterly, “Go back to Sarkap, slaves. And tell him that Rasalu deems it no act of bravery to kill even an enemy by treachery.”

Now, when evening came, Rajah Rasalu went forth to play chaupur with King Sarkap, and as he passed some potters’ kilns he saw a cat wandering about restlessly; so he asked what ailed her, that she never stood still, and she replied: “My kittens are in an unbaked pot in the kiln yonder. It has just been set alight, and my children will be baked alive; therefore I cannot rest!”

Her words moved the heart of Rajah Rasalu, and going to the potter, he asked him to sell the kiln as it was; but the potter replied that he could not settle a fair price till the pots were burned, as he could not tell how many would come out whole. Nevertheless, after some bargaining, he consented at last to sell the kiln, and Rasalu, having searched all the pots, restored the kittens to their mother, and she in gratitude for his mercy, gave him one of them, saying, “Put it in your pocket, for it will help you when you are in difficulties.” So Rajah Rasalu put the kitten in his pocket, and went to play chaupur with the king.

Now, before they sat down to play, Rajah Sarkap fixed his stakes—on the first game, his kingdom; on the second, the wealth of the whole world, and on the third, his own head. So, likewise, Rajah Rasalu fixed his stakes—on the first game, his arms; on the second, his horse, and on the third, his own head.

Then they began to play, and it fell to Rasalu’s lot to make the first move. Now he, forgetful of the dead man’s warning, played with the dice given him by Rajah Sarkap, besides which, Sarkap let loose his famous rat, Dhol Rajah, and it ran about the board, upsetting the chaupur pieces on the sly, so that Rasalu lost the first game, and gave up his shining armor.

Then the second game began, and once more Dhol Rajah, the rat, upset the pieces; and Rasalu, losing the game, gave up his faithful steed. Then Bhanur, the Arab steed, who stood by, found voice, and cried to his master:

“Sea-born am I, bought with much gold;
Dear Prince! Trust me now as of old.
I’ll carry you far from these wiles—
My flight, all unspurr’d, will be swift as a bird,
For thousands and thousands of miles!
Or if needs you must stay; ere the next game you play
Place your hand in your pocket, I pray!”

Hearing this, Rajah Sarkap frowned, and bade his slaves remove Bhanur, the Arab steed, since he gave his master advice in the game. Now, when the slaves came to lead the faithful steed away, Rasalu could not refrain from tears, thinking over the long years during which Bhanur, the Arab steed, had been his companion. But the horse cried out again:

“Weep not, dear Prince! I shall not eat my bread
Of stranger hands, nor to strange stall be led.
Take thy right hand, and place it as I said.”

These words roused some recollection in Rasalu’s mind, and when, just at this moment, the kitten in his pocket began to struggle, he remembered all about the warning, and the dice made from dead men’s bones. Then his heart rose up once more, and he called boldly to Rajah Sarkap: “Leave my horse and arms here for the present. Time enough to take them away when you have won my head!”

Now, Rajah Sarkap, seeing Rasalu’s confident bearing, began to be afraid, and ordered all the women of his palace to come forth in their gayest attire and stand before Rasalu, so as to distract his attention from the game. But he never even looked at them, and drawing the dice from his pocket, said to Sarkap, “We have played with your dice all this time. Now we will play with mine.”

Then the kitten went and sat at the window through which the rat Dhol Rajah used to come, and the game began.

After awhile, Sarkap, seeing Rajah Rasalu was winning, called to his rat, but when Dhol Rajah saw the kitten he was afraid, and would not go farther. So Rasalu won, and took back his arms. Next he played for his horse, and once more Rajah Sarkap called for his rat; but Dhol Rajah, seeing the kitten keeping watch, was afraid. So Rasalu won the second stake, and took back Bhanur, the Arab steed.

Then Sarkap brought all his skill to bear on the third and last game, saying:

“Oh, molded pieces! Favor me to-day!
Forsooth this is a man with whom I play.
No paltry risk—but life and death at stake;
As Sarkap does, so do, for Sarkap’s sake!”

But Rasalu answered back:

“Oh, molded pieces! Favor me to-day!
Forsooth it is a man with whom I play.
No paltry risk—but life and death at stake;
As Heaven does, so do, for Heaven’s sake!”

So they began to play, whilst the women stood round in a circle, and the kitten watched Dhol Rajah, from the window. Then Sarkap lost, first his kingdom, then the wealth of the whole world, and lastly his head.

Just then, a servant came in to announce the birth of a daughter to Rajah Sarkap, and he, overcome by misfortunes, said, “Kill her at once! For she has been born in an evil moment, and has brought her father ill luck!”

But Rasalu rose up in his shining armor, tender-hearted and strong, saying: “Not so, O King! She has done no evil. Give me this child to wife; and if you will vow, by all you hold sacred, never again to play chaupur for another’s head, I will spare yours now!”

Then Sarkap vowed a solemn vow never to play for another’s head; and after that he took a fresh mango branch, and the newborn babe, and placing them on a golden dish, gave them to Rasalu.

Now, as he left the palace, carrying with him the newborn babe and the mango branch, he met a band of prisoners, and they called out to him:

“A royal hawk art thou, O King, the rest
But timid wild-fowl. Grant us our request,
Unloose these chains, and live forever blest!”

And Rajah Rasalu harkened to them, and bade King Sarkap set them at liberty.

Then he went to the Murti Hills, and placed the newborn babe, Kokilan, in an underground palace, and planted the mango branch at the door, saying, “In twelve years the mango tree will blossom; then will I return and marry Kokilan.”

And after twelve years, the mango tree began to flower, and Raja Rasalu married the Princess Kokilan, who he won from Sarkap when he played chaupur with the king.

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THE FOUR FRIENDS

Three great friends, a tortoise, a weasel and a crow, were talking together one fine day when they were disturbed by the noise of an animal who was coming their way in great haste. They soon saw that it was a goat, who was evidently being pursued, so, as a matter of safety, each of them sought a place of refuge.

The goat stopped quite suddenly by the side of a pool, near which the three friends had been conversing together, but he seemed to be afraid to drink. The crow, who had flown to the upper branches of a high tree, saw that the man who had been hunting the goat had given up the chase, so he called to the tortoise, whose haven was the pool, that it was quite safe now for him to come out.

The tortoise at once came to the surface, and seeing the goat standing there, evidently thirsty, but trembling and afraid to drink, spoke kindly to him, assuring him that there was no danger.

Then the goat drank, and the tortoise asked him why he was so distressed. The goat replied that he had reason to be, for he had barely escaped death at the hands of a hunter.

“Well,” said the tortoise, “you are quite safe now. There are three of us here, a weasel, a crow, and myself, who are great friends. How would you like to join our company? It is our practice to stand by one another in all things, and to make our lives as pleasant as possible.”

By this time the weasel and the crow had joined them and they seconded the invitation, so the goat accepted, and each of them swore to be a true friend to the others.

For a long time they lived pleasantly together; but one day the goat failed to be at their meeting-place, and this caused them great anxiety. They waited for some time, but as their friend didn’t appear, they decided to search for him, fearing that he was in trouble. So the crow flew up into the air, and looking round about saw the poor goat striving to release himself from the meshes of a hunter’s net.

He at once reported his discovery to his friends, and their sorrow upon receiving the news of the goat’s capture was great. It was their duty now to see what could be done to help their comrade, and at length they hit upon a plan to rescue him.

The weasel possessed very sharp teeth, and he was to gnaw the meshes of the net in which the goat was confined, and so set him at liberty. As this would take some time, it was necessary that the weasel get to work as soon as possible, because the hunter might return to his net at any minute.

The crow and the weasel hastened to the spot, and such good work did the latter do with his teeth, that by the time the tortoise arrived, the goat was at liberty.

It was foolish for the tortoise to have come so far from home, especially to a place so dangerous as this, because it surely would not be very long before the hunter returned, and his presence there caused the goat to say: “My dear friend, I am sorry to have been the cause of bringing you here, for if the hunter should come, how could you escape? The rest of us could easily look after ourselves, for the crow would fly into the air, the weasel could hide in any hole, and I should seek safety in flight; but you, who move so slowly, would be at the mercy of the hunter.”

At this moment, surely enough, the hunter appeared, and it happened as the goat had said. The latter ran swiftly away; the crow flew into the air, and the weasel disappeared into a hole. Only the tortoise was left, unable to escape.

The hunter was greatly vexed when he saw the broken net, and he wondered who could have helped the goat to get away. He looked around, and of course saw the tortoise.

“Well,” he said, “here is a tortoise, and that is better than nothing, and it will make a very good meal.” So he threw the tortoise into a sack which he carried, threw it over his shoulder, and started off home.

When he had gone the three friends returned, and guessed at once what had happened to the tortoise. They bitterly bemoaned his fate, especially the goat, who blamed himself as being the cause of this trouble.

Then the crow said: “Tears and lamentations will not help our poor friend, so let us devise means of saving him. It is our part to show what we can do in a case of such need.”

They thought hard, and finally decided upon a plan. The goat was to let himself be seen by the hunter, and to make out that he was lame. The hunter would then be sure of being able to catch him, and so lay down his sack, and run after him. As soon as he was far enough away from the sack (and it was the part of the goat to lead him as far away as possible) the weasel would again put his sharp teeth into use, and gnaw through the cord which would be tied around the mouth of the sack, and so free their friend.

So the goat ran with speed until he was in front of the hunter, and then he appeared to be lame and weary. As soon as the hunter saw him in such feeble condition he was sure he could catch him without difficulty, and so, throwing down his sack, he ran after the goat, who artfully drew him farther and farther away, until they were both out of sight.

Then came the weasel, whose strong teeth soon set the tortoise at liberty, and together they hid themselves in a bush.

The goat had led the hunter a merry chase, which the latter was finally forced to give up, and then return to recover his sack. He was congratulating himself on having at least captured something that couldn’t run away from him, when he lifted the sack from the ground, and found that now he had lost the tortoise.

This story shows the strength of true friendship, and that when the desire to help is there, a way to do so will be found.

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THE ADVENTURES OF JUAN

Juan was always getting into trouble. He was a lazy boy, and more than that, he did not have good sense. When he tried to do things, he made such dreadful mistakes that he might better not have tried.

His family grew very impatient with him, scolding and beating him whenever he did anything wrong. One day his mother, who was almost discouraged with him, gave him a bolo[4] and sent him to the forest, for she thought he could at least cut firewood. Juan walked leisurely along, contemplating some means of escape. At last he came to a tree that seemed easy to cut, and then he drew his long knife and prepared to work.

[Footnote 4: A long knife.]

Now it happened that this was a magic tree, and it said to Juan:

“If you do not cut me I will give you a goat that shakes silver from its whiskers.”

This pleased Juan wonderfully, both because he was curious to see the goat, and because he would not have to chop the wood. He agreed at once to spare the tree, whereupon the bark separated and the goat stepped out. Juan commanded it to shake its whiskers, and when the money began to drop he was so delighted that he took the animal and started home to show his treasure to his mother.

On the way he met a friend who was more cunning than Juan, and when he heard of the boy’s rich goat he decided to rob him. Knowing Juan’s fondness for tuba,[5] he persuaded him to drink. This sent him to sleep, and then the friend substituted another goat for the magic one. As soon as he awoke, Juan hastened home with the goat and told his people of the wonderful tree, but when he commanded the animal to shake its whiskers, no money fell out. The family, believing it to be another of Juan’s tricks, beat and scolded the poor boy.

[Footnote 5: Fermented juice of the cocoanut.]

He went back to the tree and threatened to cut it down for lying to him, but the tree said:

“No, do not cut me down and I will give you a net which you may cast on dry ground, or even in the tree tops, and it will return full of fish.”

So Juan spared the tree and started home with his precious net, but on the way he met the same friend who again persuaded him to drink tuba. While he was asleep, the friend replaced the magic net with a common one, so that when Juan reached home and tried to show his power, he was again the subject of ridicule.

Once more Juan went to his tree, this time determined to cut it down. But the offer of a magic pot, always full of rice and spoons which provided whatever he wished to eat with his rice, dissuaded him, and he started home happier than ever. Before reaching home, however, he met with the same fate as before, and his folks, who were becoming tired of his pranks, beat him harder than ever.

Thoroughly angered, Juan sought the tree a fourth time and was on the point of cutting it down when once more it arrested his attention. After some discussion, he consented to accept a stick to which he had only to say, “Boombye, Boomba,” and it would beat and kill anything he wished.

When he met his friend on this trip, he was asked what he had, and he replied:

“Oh, it is only a stick, but if I say, ‘Boombye, Boomba,’ it will beat you to death.”

At the sound of the magic words the stick leaped from his hands and began beating his friend until he cried:

“Oh, stop it and I will give back everything that I stole from you.” Juan ordered the stick to stop, and then he compelled the man to lead the goat and to carry the net and the jar and spoons to his home.

There Juan commanded the goat, and it shook its whiskers until his mother and brothers had all the silver they could carry. Then they ate from the magic jar and spoons until they were filled. And this time Juan was not scolded. After they had finished Juan said:

“You have beaten me and scolded me all my life, and now you are glad to accept my good things. I am going to show you something else: ‘Boombye, Boomba.’” Immediately the stick leaped out and beat them all until they begged for mercy and promised that Juan should ever after be head of the house.

From that time Juan was rich and powerful, but he never went anywhere without his stick. One night, when some thieves came to his house, he would have been robbed and killed had it not been for the magic words “Boombye, Boomba,” which caused the death of all the robbers.

Some time after this he married a beautiful princess, and because of the kindness of the magic tree they always lived happily.

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THE FEAST OF THE LANTERNS

Wang Chih was only a poor man, but he had a wife and children to love, and they made him so happy that he would not have changed places with the Emperor himself.

He worked in the fields all day, and at night his wife always had a bowl of rice ready for his supper. And sometimes, for a treat, she made him some bean soup, or gave him a little dish of fried pork.

But they could not afford pork very often; he generally had to be content with rice.

One morning, as he was setting off to his work, his wife sent Han Chung, his son, running after him to ask him to bring home some firewood.

“I shall have to go up into the mountain for it at noon,” he said. “Go and bring me my axe, Han Chung.”

Han Chung ran for his father’s axe, and Ho-Seen-Ko, his little sister, came out of the cottage with him.

“Remember, it is the Feast of Lanterns to-night, father,” she said. “Don’t fall asleep upon the mountain; we want you to come back and light them for us.”

She had a lantern in the shape of a fish, painted red and black and yellow, and Han Chung had got a big round one, all bright crimson, to carry in the procession; and, besides that, there were two large lanterns to be hung outside the cottage door as soon as it grew dark.

Wang Chih was not likely to forget the Feast of Lanterns, for the children had talked of nothing else for a month, and he promised to come home as early as he could.

At noontide, when his fellow-laborers gave up working, and sat down to rest and eat, Wang Chih took his axe and went up the mountain slope to find a small tree he might cut down for fuel.

He walked a long way, and at last saw one growing at the mouth of a cave.

“This will be just the thing,” he said to himself. But, before striking the first blow, he peeped into the cave to see if it were empty.

To his surprise, two old men, with long, white beards, were sitting inside playing chess, as quietly as mice, with their eyes fixed on the chessboard.

Wang Chih knew something of chess, and he stepped in and watched them for a few minutes.

“As soon as they look up I can ask them if I may chop down a tree,” he said to himself. But they did not look up, and by and by Wang Chih got so interested in the game that he put down his axe, and sat on the floor to watch it better.

The two old men sat cross-legged on the ground, and the chessboard rested on a slab, like a stone table, between them.

On one corner of the slab lay a heap of small brown objects which Wang Chih took at first to be date stones; but after a time the chess-players ate one each, and put one in Wang Chih’s mouth, and he found it was not a date stone at all.

It was a delicious kind of sweetmeat, the like of which he had never tasted before; and the strangest thing about it was that it took his hunger and thirst away.

He had been both hungry and thirsty when he came into the cave, as he had not waited to have his mid-day meal with the other field-workers; but now he felt quite comforted and refreshed.

He sat there some time longer, and noticed that as the old men frowned over the chessboard, their beards grew longer and longer, until they swept the floor of the cave, and even found their way out of the door.

“I hope my beard will never grow as quickly,” said Wang Chih, as he rose and took up his axe again.

Then one of the old men spoke, for the first time. “Our beards have not grown quickly, young man. How long is it since you came here?”

“About half an hour, I dare say,” replied Wang Chih. But as he spoke, the axe crumbled to dust beneath his fingers, and the second chess-player laughed, and pointed to the little brown sweetmeats on the table.

“Half an hour, or half a century—aye, half a thousand years are all alike to him who tastes of these. Go down into your village and see what has happened since you left it.”

So Wang Chih went down as quickly as he could from the mountain, and found the fields where he had worked covered with houses, and a busy town where his own little village had been. In vain he looked for his house, his wife, and his children.

There were strange faces everywhere; and although when evening came the Feast of Lanterns was being held once more, there was no Ho-Seen-Ko carrying her red and yellow fish, or Han Chung with his flaming red ball.

At last he found a woman, a very, very old woman, who told him that when she was a tiny girl she remembered her grand-mother saying how, when _she_ was a tiny girl, a poor young man had been spirited away by the Genii of the mountains on the day of the Feast of Lanterns, leaving his wife and little children with only a few handfuls of rice in the house.

“Moreover, if you wait while the procession passes, you will see two children dressed to represent Han Chung and Ho-Seen-Ko, and their mother carrying the empty rice-bowl between them; for this is done every year to remind people to take care of the widow and fatherless,” she said. So Wang Chih waited in the street; and in a little while the procession came to an end, and the last three figures in it were a boy and girl, dressed like his own two children, walking on either side of a young woman carrying a rice-bowl. But she was not like his wife in anything but her dress, and the children were not at all like Han Chung and Ho-Seen-Ko; and poor Wang Chih’s heart was very heavy as he walked out of the town.

He slept out on the mountain, and early in the morning found his way back to the cave where the two old men were playing chess.

At first they said they could do nothing for him and told him to go away and not disturb them; but Wang Chih would not go, and they found the only way to get rid of him was to give him some really good advice.

“You must go to the White Hare of the Moon, and ask him for a bottle of the elixir of life. If you drink that you will live forever,” said one of them.

“But I don’t want to live forever,” objected Wang Chih. “I wish to go back and live in the days when my wife and children were here.”

“Ah, well! For that you must mix the elixir of life with some water out of the sky-dragon’s mouth.”

“And where is the sky-dragon to be found?” inquired Wang Chih.

“In the sky, of course. You really ask very stupid questions. He lives in a cloud-cave. And when he comes out of it he breathes fire, and sometimes water. If he is breathing fire you will be burned up, but if it is only water, you will easily be able to catch some in a little bottle. What else do you want?”

For Wang Chih still lingered at the mouth of the cave.

“I want a pair of wings to fly with, and a bottle to catch the water in,” he replied boldly.

So they gave him a little bottle and before he had time to say “Thank you!” a white crane came sailing past and lighted on the ground close to the cave.

“The crane will take you wherever you like,” said the old men. “Go now, and leave us in peace.”

So Wang Chih sat on the white crane’s back, and was taken up and up through the sky to the cloud-cave where the sky-dragon lived. And the dragon had the head of a camel, the horns of a deer, the eyes of a rabbit, the ears of a cow, and the claws of a hawk.

Besides this, he had whiskers and a beard, and in his beard was a bright pearl.

All these things show that he was a real, genuine dragon, and if you ever meet a dragon who is not exactly like this, you will know he is only a make-believe one.

Wang Chih felt rather frightened when he perceived the cave in the distance, and if it had not been for the thought of seeing his wife again, and his little boy and girl, he would have been glad to turn back.

While he was far away the cloud-cave looked like a dark hole in the midst of a soft woolly mass, such as one sees in the sky on an April day; but as he came nearer he found the cloud was as hard as a rock, and covered with a kind of dry, white grass.

When he got there, he sat down on a tuft of grass near the cave, and considered what he should do next.

The first thing was, of course, to bring the dragon out, and the next to make him breathe water instead of fire.

“I have it!” cried Wang Chih at last; and he nodded his head so many times that the little white crane expected to see it fall off.

He struck a light, and set the grass on fire, and it was so dry that the flames spread all around the entrance to the cave, and made such a smoke and crackling that the sky-dragon put his head out to see what was the matter.

“Ho! Ho!” cried the dragon, when he saw what Wang Chih had done, “I can soon put this to rights.” And he breathed once, and the water came out of his nose and mouth in three streams.

But this was not enough to put the fire out. Then he breathed twice, and the water came out in three mighty rivers, and Wang Chih, who had taken care to fill his bottle when the first stream began to flow, sailed away on the white crane’s back as fast as he could go, to escape being drowned.

The rivers poured over the cloud rock, until there was not a spark left alight, and rushed down through the sky into the sea below.

Fortunately, the sea lay right underneath the dragon’s cave, or he would have done some nice mischief. As it was, the people on the coast looked out across the water toward Japan, and saw three inky-black clouds stretching from the sky into the sea.

“My word! There is a fine rain-storm out at sea!” they said to each other.

But, of course, it was nothing of the kind; it was only the sky-dragon putting out the fire Wang Chih had kindled.

Meanwhile, Wang Chih was on his way to the moon, and when he got there he went straight to the hut where the Hare of the Moon lived, and knocked at the door.

The Hare was busy pounding the drugs which make up the elixir of life; but he left his work, opened the door, and invited Wang Chih to come in.

He was not ugly, like the dragon; his fur was quite white and soft and glossy, and he had lovely, gentle brown eyes.

The Hare of the Moon lives a thousand years, as you know, and when he is five hundred years old he changes his color from brown to white, and becomes, if possible, better tempered and nicer than he was before.

As soon as he heard what Wang Chih wanted, he opened two windows at the back of the hut, and told him to look through each of them in turn.

“Tell me what you see,” said the Hare, going back to the table where he was pounding the drugs.

“I can see a great many houses and people,” said Wang Chih, “and streets—why, this is the town I was in yesterday, the one which has taken the place of my old village.”

Wang Chih stared, and grew more and more puzzled. Here he was up in the moon, and yet he could have thrown a stone into the busy street of the Chinese town below his window.

“How does it come here,” he stammered, at last.

“Oh, that is my secret,” replied the wise old Hare. “I know how to do a great many things which would surprise you. But the question is, do you want to go back there?”

Wang Chih shook his head.

“Then close the window. It is the window of the Present. And look through the other, which is the window of the Past.”

Wang Chih obeyed, and through this window he saw his own dear little village, and his wife, and Han Chung and Ho-Seen-Ko jumping about her as she hung up the colored lanterns outside the door.

“Father won’t be in time to light them for us, after all,” Han Chung was saying.

Wang Chih turned, and looked eagerly at the White Hare.

“Let me go to them,” he said. “I have got a bottle of water from the sky-dragon’s mouth, and——”

“That’s all right,” said the White Hare. “Give it to me.”

He opened the bottle, and mixed the contents carefully with a few drops of the elixir of life, which was clear as crystal, and of which each drop shone like a diamond as he poured it in.

“Now, drink this,” he said to Wang Chih, “and it will give you the power of living once more in the past, as you desire.”

Wang Chih held out his hand, and drank every drop.

The moment he had done so the window grew larger, and he saw some steps leading from it down into the village street.

Thanking the Hare, he rushed through it, and ran toward his own house, arriving in time to take from his wife’s hand the taper with which she was about to light the red and yellow lanterns which swung over the door.

“What has kept you so long, father? Where have you been?” asked Han Chung, while little Ho-Seen-Ko wondered why he kissed and embraced them all so eagerly.

But Wang Chih did not tell them his adventures just then; only when darkness fell, and the Feast of Lanterns began, he took his part in it with a merry heart.

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LUMAWIG ON EARTH

One day when Lumawig, the Great Spirit, looked down from his place in the sky, he saw two sisters gathering beans, and he decided to visit them. When he arrived at the place he asked them what they were doing.

The younger, whose name was Fukan, answered:

“We are gathering beans, but it takes a long time to get enough, for my sister wants to go bathing all the time.”

Then Lumawig said to the older sister:

“Hand me a single pod of the beans.”

And when she had given it to him, he shelled it into the basket and immediately the basket was full. The younger sister laughed at this, and Lumawig said to her:

“Give me another pod and another basket.”

She did so, and when he had shelled the pod, that basket was full also. Then he said to the younger sister:

“Go home and get three more baskets.”

She went home, but when she asked for three more baskets her mother said that the beans were few and she could not need so many. Then Fukan told her of the young man who could fill a basket from one pod of beans, and the father, who heard her story, said:

“Go, bring the young man here, for I think he must be a god.”

So Fukan took the three baskets back to Lumawig, and when he had filled them as he did the other two, he helped the girls carry them to the house. As they reached their home, he stopped outside to cool himself, but the father called to him, and he went into the house and asked for some water. The father brought him a cocoanut shell full, and before drinking Lumawig looked at it and said:

“If I stay here with you, I shall become very strong.”

The next morning Lumawig asked to see their chickens, and when they opened the chicken-coop out came a hen and many little chicks.

“Are these all of your chickens?” asked Lumawig; and the father assured him that they were all. He then bade them bring rice meal that he might feed them, and as the chickens ate they all grew rapidly till they were cocks and hens.

Next Lumawig asked how many pigs they had, and the father replied that they had one with some little ones. Then Lumawig bade them fill a pail with sweet potato leaves, and he fed the pigs. And as they ate they also grew to full size.

The father was so pleased with all these things that he offered his elder daughter to Lumawig for a wife. But the Great Spirit said he preferred to marry the younger, and so it was arranged. Now when his brother-in-law learned that Lumawig desired a feast at his wedding, he was very angry and said:

“Where would you get food for your wedding feast? There is no rice, nor beef, nor pork, nor chicken.”

But Lumawig only answered, “I shall provide our wedding feast.”

In the morning they all set out for Lanao, for Lumawig did not care to stay any longer in the house with his brother-in-law. As soon as they arrived he sent out for some tree trunks, but the trees that the people brought in were so small that Lumawig himself went to the forest and cut two large pine trees which he hurled to Lanao.

When the people had built a fire of the trees he commanded them to bring ten kettles filled with water. Soon the water was boiling hot and the brother-in-law laughed and said:

“Where is your rice? You have the boiling water, but you do not seem to think of the rice.”

In answer to this Lumawig took a small basket of rice and passed it over five kettles and they were full. Then he called, “Yish-tjau,” and some deer came running out of the forest. These were not what he wanted, however, so he called again and some pigs came. He told the people that they were each to catch one, and for his brother-in-law he selected the largest and best.

They all set out in pursuit of the pigs and the others quickly caught theirs, but though the brother-in-law chased his until he was very tired and hot he could not catch it. Lumawig laughed at him and said:

“You chase that pig until he is thin and still you cannot catch it, though all the others have theirs.”

Thereupon he grasped the hind legs of the pig and lifted it. All the people laughed and the brother-in-law said:

“Of course you can catch it, because I chased it until it was tired.”

Lumawig then handed it to him, and said: “Here, you carry it.” But no sooner had the brother-in-law put it over his shoulder than it cut loose and ran away.

“Why did you let it go?” asked Lumawig. “Do you care nothing for it, even after I caught it for you? Catch it again and bring it here.”

So the brother-in-law started out again, and he chased it up stream and down, but he could not catch it. Finally Lumawig reached down and picked up the pig and carried it to the place where the others were cooking.

After they had all eaten and drunk and made their offerings to the spirits, Lumawig said:

“Come, let us go to the mountain to consult the omen concerning the northern tribes.”

So they consulted the omen, but it was not favorable, and they were starting home when the brother-in-law asked Lumawig to create some water, as the people were hot and thirsty.

“Why do you not create water, Lumawig?” he repeated, as Lumawig paid no attention to him. “You care nothing that the people are thirsty and in need of drink.”

Then they quarreled and were very angry and Lumawig said to the people, “Let us sit down and rest.”

While they rested, Lumawig struck the rock with his spear, and water came out. The brother-in-law jumped up to get a drink first, but Lumawig held him back, and said he must be the last to drink. So they all drank, and when they had finished the brother-in-law stepped up, but Lumawig gave him a push which sent him into the rock, and water came from his body.

“You must stay there,” said Lumawig, “because you have troubled me a great deal.” And they went home, leaving him in the rock.

Some time after this Lumawig decided to go back to the sky to live, but before he went he took care that his wife should have a home. He made a coffin of wood and placed her in it with a dog at her feet and a cock at her head. And as he set it floating on the water, he told it not to stop until it reached Tinglayen. Then, if the foot struck first, the dog should bark; and if the head end was the first to strike, the cock should crow. So it floated away, on and on, until it came to Tinglayen.

Now a widower was sharpening his axe on the bank of the river, and when he saw the coffin stop, he went to fish it out of the water. On the shore he started to open it, but Fukan cried out, “Do not drive a wedge, for I am here.” So the widower opened it carefully and took Fukan up to the town, and then, as he had no wife of his own, he married her.

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IN UNION IS STRENGTH

A lion was wandering over the desert, seeking water. It was very hot, and the sun had dried so many pools that it was a long time before he found a well where he could assuage his thirst. But this he did at last, although the water in it was not at all fresh. However, he was too thirsty to care much whether it was stale or not.

He reached down to drink, and then his ears were assailed with the buzzing of mosquitoes, who said to him:

“Lion, leave us in peace. We did not ask you to come here and drink up our home, and you are not welcome.”

This surprised the Lion, who was not used to being spoken to in such an impertinent manner. He roared and said: “Do you know whom you are speaking to? I am the Lion, the King of all beasts. What affair of yours is it what I do? Leave me at once, or I will kill you all.”

But the Mosquitoes said: “You are one, and we are many. For generations has this old well been our home, and it is not for you to say that we must go. Take our advice and seek another well, or trouble will visit you.”

“You insignificant little creatures, how dare you address me in such manner,” roared the Lion. “Why, in one minute I can swallow you all and you will make only the very smallest part of a mouthful for me. Know that when I speak all beasts of the forest and the wilderness bow before me, and tremble. Now fly away, all of you, for I am going to drink.”

“We know how great is your renown,” said the Mosquitoes, “but we do not fear you. If you wish to fight us we are very willing to have it so, but we will not allow you to destroy our home.”

The Lion was now enraged more than he had ever been before. Such language to him, the King, meant that destruction must be meted out to those who dared to use it. He roared again, and made ready to kill the foolish Mosquitoes.

But he found that he had undertaken no easy task. The Mosquitoes flew into his ears, his eyes, his nose and his mouth. They stung him all over his body, and soon he knew that he was conquered. He shook himself; he rolled over and over on the ground, but he could not drive them away.

Then he jumped high into the air, and when he came down his head and fore feet went into the well, and he was unable to release himself.

And so he died, thus teaching a lesson to those who are so proud of their own might that they all think all others must bow down to them. The water in the well was the home of the Mosquitoes, and he had no right to deprive them of it. Had he made a request for water with gentle words, it would without doubt have been given to him, but in the foolishness of his pride and anger he demanded that which was not his. Gentleness, and consideration for others will bring their reward.

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THE STORY OF BANTUGAN

Before the Spaniards occupied the island of Mindanao, there lived in the valley of the Rio Grande a very strong man, Bantugan, whose father was the brother of the earthquake and thunder.

Now the Sultan of the Island had a beautiful daughter whom Bantugan wished to marry, but the home of the Sultan was far off, and whoever went to carry Bantugan’s proposal would have a long and hazardous journey. All the head men consulted together regarding who should be sent, and at last it was decided that Bantugan’s own son, Balatama, was the one to go. Balatama was young but he was strong and brave, and when the arms of his father were given him to wear on the long journey his heart swelled with pride. More than once on the way, however, his courage was tried, and only the thought of his brave father gave him strength to proceed.

Once he came to a wooden fence which surrounded a stone in the form of a man, and as it was directly in his path he drew his fighting knife to cut down the fence. Immediately the air became as black as night and stones rained down as large as houses. This made Balatama cry, but he protected himself with his father’s shield and prayed, calling on the winds from the homeland until they came and cleared the air again.

Thereupon Balatama encountered a great snake in the road, and it inquired his errand. When told, the snake said:

“You cannot go on, for I am guard of this road and no one can pass.”

The animal made a move to seize him, but with one stroke of his fighting knife the boy cut the snake into two pieces, one of which he threw into the sea and the other into the mountains.

After many days the weary lad came to a high rock in the road, which glistened in the sunlight. From the top he could look down into the city for which he was bound. It was a splendid place with ten harbors. Standing out from the other palaces was one of crystal and another of pure gold. Encouraged by this sight he went on, but though it seemed only a short distance, it was some time before he at last stood at the gate of the town.

It was not long after this, however, before Balatama had made known his errand to the Sultan, and that monarch, turning to his courtiers, said:

“You, my friends, decide whether or not I shall give the hand of my daughter to Bantugan in marriage.”

The courtiers slowly shook their heads and began to offer objections.

Said one, “I do not see how Bantugan can marry the Sultan’s daughter because the first gift must be a figure of a man or woman in pure gold.”

“Well,” said the son of Bantugan, “I am here to learn what you want and to say whether or not it can be given.”

Then a second man spoke: “You must give a great yard with a floor of gold, which must be three feet thick.”

“All this can be given,” answered the boy.

And the sister of the Princess said: “The gifts must be as many as the blades of grass in our city.”

“It shall be granted,” said Balatama.

“You must give a bridge built of stone to cross the great river,” said one.

And another: “A ship of stone you must give, and you must change into gold all the cocoanuts and leaves in the Sultan’s grove.”

“All this can be done,” said Balatama. “My uncles will give all save the statue of gold, and that I shall give myself. But first I must go to my father’s town to secure it.”

At this they were angry and declared that he had made sport of them and unless he produced the statue at once they would kill him.

“If I give you the statue now,” said he, “there will come dreadful storms, rain, and darkness.”

But they only laughed at him and insisted on having the statue, so he reached into his helmet and drew it forth.

Immediately the earth began to quake. A great storm arose, and stones as large as houses rained until the Sultan called to Balatama to put back the statue lest they all be killed.

“You would not believe what I told you,” said the boy; “and now I am going to let the storm continue.”

But the Sultan begged him and promised that Bantugan might marry his daughter with no other gifts at all save the statue of gold. Balatama put back the statue into his helmet, and the air became calm again to the great relief of the Sultan and his courtiers. Then Balatama prepared to return home, promising that Bantugan would come in three months for the wedding.

All went well with the boy on the way home until he came to the fence surrounding the stone in the form of a man, and there he was detained and compelled to remain four months.

Now about this time a Spanish general heard that Bantugan was preparing to marry the Sultan’s daughter, whom he determined to wed himself. A great expedition was prepared, and he with all his brothers embarked on his large warship which was followed by ten thousand other ships. They went to the Sultan’s city, and their number was so great that they filled the harbor, frightening the people greatly.

Then the General’s brother disembarked and came to the house of the Sultan. He demanded the Princess for the General, saying that if the request were refused the fleet would destroy the city and all its people. The Sultan and his courtiers were so frightened that they decided to give his daughter to the General, the next full moon being the date set for the wedding.

In the meantime Bantugan had been preparing everything for the marriage which he expected to take place at the appointed time. But as the days went by and Balatama did not return they became alarmed, fearing that he was dead. After three months had passed Bantugan prepared a great expedition to go in search of his son, and the great warship was decorated with flags of gold.

As they came in sight of the Sultan’s city, they saw the Spanish fleet in the harbor, and one of his brothers advised Bantugan not to enter until the Spaniards left. They then brought their ship to anchor. But all were disappointed that they could go no farther, and one said, “Why do we not go on? Even if the blades of grass turn into Spaniards we need not fear.” Another said: “Why do we fear? Even if the cannon-balls come like rain, we can always fight.” Finally some wanted to return to their homes and Bantugan said: “No, let us seek my son. Even though we must enter the harbor where the Spaniards are, let us continue our search.” So at his command the anchors were lifted, and they sailed into the harbor where the Spanish fleet lay.

Now at this very time the Spanish general and his brother were with the Sultan, intending to call upon the Princess. As the brother talked with one of the sisters of the Princess they moved toward the window, and looking down they saw Bantugan’s ships entering the harbor. They could not tell whose flags the ships bore. Neither could the Sultan when he was called. Then he sent his brother to bring his father, who was a very old man, to see if he could tell. The father was kept in a little dark room by himself that he might not get hurt, and the Sultan said to his brother:

“If he is so bent with age that he cannot see, talk, or walk, tickle him in the ribs and that will make him young again; and, my Brother, carry him here yourself lest one of the slaves should let him fall and he should hurt himself.”

So the old man was brought, and when he looked out upon the ships he saw that the flags were those of the father of Bantugan who had been a great friend of his in his youth. And he told them that he and Bantugan’s father years ago had made a contract that their children and children’s children should inter-marry, and now since the Sultan had promised his daughter to two people, he foresaw that great trouble would come to the land. Then the Sultan said to the General:

“Here are two claimants to my daughter’s hand. Go aboard your ships and you and Bantugan make war on each other, and the victor shall have my daughter.”