2. Story of an Orphan and his Uncles.
Once upon a time a widow woman had an only son. His mother had six brothers. One day at evening his uncles said to the orphan, “Nephew, let us go and set up a fish-trap.”[4] So the orphan went with them. Then the six brothers, his uncles, having built a good weir up-stream, set the trap. The orphan, having put together a few stones down-stream, below his uncle’s trap-weir, set his own trap carelessly in the middle of them, and returned home. The next morning they all came to look at their traps. The uncles’ trap, though very well put together, had not caught so much as a cray-fish; as for the orphan’s trap, it was quite full of fish. Then the uncles said, “Nephew, we will set up our trap here; do you go down-stream and set up your trap again.” Then, after the uncles had set up their trap in the orphan’s trap-weir, the orphan again set up his trap downstream. But again the fish entered it just in the same way; while not one fish had got into the uncles’ trap, the orphan’s trap was quite full of fish. Every morning the uncles continued to take for themselves the place where the orphan’s trap had been. At last the orphan, becoming very tired of continually setting up his trap in a different place, one morning, instead of fixing the trap in the stream, placed it on a clump of grass and left it there. Next morning his uncles came and called to the orphan: “Nephew, let us go and look at the traps.” The orphan answered, “For my part, I have not set up my trap at all; nevertheless I will go with you as your companion.” So saying, he went with them. Then he went to look at his trap, and found that a wood-pigeon had got inside it. He tied this wood-pigeon with a noose and brought it home.
That orphan had one calf; you could not imagine how fat and sleek it was. His uncles, being unable through envy to look at that calf, killed it. Then the orphan, having taken off the calf’s skin, took one leg and secretly hid it in the house of a rich brahman who lived at a distance. Then the orphan said, “Oh! how strongly the house smells of cow’s flesh!” The brahman, becoming angry, said, “May a tiger eat you, you wicked boy![5] How should there be any cow’s flesh here? I am a brahman—produce it, if you can: if you cannot, I will take your life.” The orphan said, “Very well, I will make a search.” He began to search in a careless, lounging way; but coming to the place where he had hidden the calf’s leg, he suddenly pulled it out. “See, this is cow’s flesh,” said he; “I told you so.” Then the brahman, fearing lest, if other people came in and saw this, his caste would be destroyed, said to the orphan, “Orphan, my good sir! don’t tell any one. I will give you a cloth-full of money.”[6] So saying, he gave him a cloth-full of silver, which the orphan took with him to his home. When he arrived there, he said to his mother: “Go and ask my uncles for their basket.” His mother went and called out: “Brothers! your nephew says he wants a basket.” Then the widow’s brothers, having given her a basket, said among themselves, “What does he want to do with the basket? Go and watch.” So they sent the youngest of them, and he went and watched, and saw the orphan measuring the money with the basket. Then the one who had watched returned home and told his brothers: “Where did that nephew of ours get all this money? He is actually measuring the rupees with a basket!” After they had finished measuring the money, the orphan’s mother went and returned the basket. Her brothers said to her, “Send our nephew here.” When the widow reached her house she said to her son, “Your uncles bid me ask you to go and see them; they want to speak to you.” So the orphan went, and his uncles asked him, “Where did you get all that money?” He answered, “It is the price of cow’s flesh; I went a-selling the flesh of my cow which you killed. The people said, ‘There is not enough of it for us,’ and they all bade me to bring more.” His uncles asked him again, “Then if we go selling cow’s flesh, they will take more of it?” The orphan replied, “Certainly they will take more; you have many cows, and if you kill them all and go and sell their flesh, how much money will you bring back!” Then each one of his six uncles killed a cow, and having made the flesh into loads went to sell it. The orphan explained to them, “When you arrive at the village of that rich brahman, offer your meat for sale. Call out in the village as soon as you reach it, ‘Who will take more cow’s flesh?’” So these six brothers, taking up their beef, went on their way, and, arriving at the brahman’s village, they cried, “Who will take more cow’s flesh?” The people answered, “We will take more; bring it here,” and called them in. So when they arrived at the brahman’s house, all the inhabitants of the village, having gathered together, seized those six brothers who had come to sell cow’s flesh, and having tied their hands, beat them soundly, and said, “We are brahmans; do you dare to come here and traffic, offering cow’s flesh for sale?” So saying, they let them go. Then those men who had brought the beef returned homewards, and on the way took counsel together: “Oh, how that orphan has cheated us! Not only has he caused us to kill our cattle; over and above that, he has got us skins that smart all over. As soon as we get home, let us set fire to his house!” So when they reached home, they set fire to the orphan’s house. Then the orphan, having woven two baskets, collected the ashes of his burnt house, and made them into a load, and went to a distant village where the people suffered from sore eyes. In that village there was not a man who had not a pain in his eyes. When they saw the orphan coming with his load of ashes, they asked him “Why have you come hither?” The orphan answered, “Oh! when I heard that your whole village was suffering severely from sore eyes, I came to sell medicine to cure the complaint.” “Oh, that is very good indeed, dear sir,” said they, and all the people of the village collected a load of money, and gave it to the orphan. Then the orphan said, “Do not apply this medicine to your eyes just yet; after I have gone a bit of the way I will call out to you, ‘Apply it’; then rub it in.” So the orphan, having got a load of money in exchange for his ashes, started for home; and when he had got a little bit of the way, the people with sore eyes called out to him, “Shall we not apply the medicine yet?” He answered “Wait a bit!”; and he continued telling them to wait so long as he was near the village. But when he arrived at a distance where he thought they could not catch him, he called out, “Now apply the medicine!” Then the sore-eyed people applied to their eyes the ashes they had bought from the orphan. As soon as the medicine touched them, their eyes began to smart as you cannot imagine! The pain in their eyes became much worse than ever before. They said among themselves, “Oh! how that fellow has cheated us, and gone away! if he comes again, let us bind his hands fast and beat him!”
When the orphan reached home, he sent his mother again to fetch his uncles’ basket. The widow went to her brothers’ house, and, having lent her the basket, those six brothers said among themselves, “Go, young one, watch again; what is he going to do with the basket?” So the youngest went again secretly to watch. Again he saw the orphan measuring money; and again he went back and carried the news to his brothers: “Our nephew has returned, bringing with him much more money than the last time.” Then the six brothers went to the orphan, and asked him, “Where did you get so much more money?” The orphan answered, “It is the price of the ashes of my house that you set fire to. The people in the place where I sold the ashes were crying, ‘It is not enough, bring us as much more again!’ Now, my house was but a little one, and so the ashes were not much. But your houses are big, and if you set fire to them and sell the ashes, how much money will you get for them! It will be more than you can possibly carry.” Then the six brothers, his uncles, said one to another, “Let us too set fire to our houses.” So, having burned down their houses, they gathered together the ashes, and each brother took as heavy a load as he could carry. Then the orphan explained to them: “Take the loads to the village of sore-eyed people, and, when you arrive near it, say, ‘Will any one take ashes?’” So these six brothers went their way, and, when they came near the village of sore eyes, they called out, “Will anyone take ashes?” Then the sore-eyed folk called out, “Bring them here.” So they went into the village. As soon as they got inside, all the people bound them fast with ropes, and rubbed into their eyes the ashes which they themselves had brought, and thrashed them soundly. When the thrashing was over, the six brothers started to return home. On the way they took counsel again together: “Oh, how that villain has deceived us! Not only has he got us smarting skins; he has, over and above that, caused us to burn down our houses and our harvests. Now, immediately we get home, let us make him fast in an iron cage,[7] and throw him into the river.”
So when they got home they seized the orphan, and having shut him up in an iron cage they took him to the bank of a great pool in a river in the jungle. Then they said, “In a little while we will drown him; now there is no chance for him to escape us, so let us go and eat our rice.” So saying, they went to eat their food. When they had gone away, a certain king’s son, who was hunting deer, came by. When he arrived where the orphan was, he asked him, “What is the reason why you are tied up in that iron cage?” The orphan answered, “My uncles have a daughter, so lovely! You cannot imagine how fair she is. They tell me to marry her, but I always answer that I will not. So my uncles, becoming angry, have shut me up in this cage.” Then the king’s son said, “Oh! then can I get her to wife?” “If you get into this cage and stay there, you will be able to get her,” the orphan answered; “after a while my uncles will come, and will say, ‘Have you nothing more to say?’ If they ask you this, then answer them, ‘All I have to say is that I will take her, uncles.’” “Very good then,” said the prince. Then the orphan said to the king’s son, “If you go into the cage wearing your own fine clothes, they will recognize you at once. So let me out. I will give you my clothes, and then you can enter the cage.” So the king’s son opened the cage and let out the orphan, and the orphan gave his clothes to the prince, while the prince gave his coat, dhoti, necklace, and bracelets in exchange to the orphan, and entered into the cage. Then the orphan made fast the door of the cage, and having dressed himself in the prince’s clothes, necklace, and bracelets, went away to his home. Then the orphan’s uncles returned from eating their rice, and coming up to the cage asked, “Have you anything more to say, nephew?” “All right, uncles, I agree to take her,” answered the king’s son, as the orphan had told him to say. Then they threw him in the iron cage into the deep pool. Thereupon the six brothers, the orphan’s uncles, said one to another, “How much trouble that fellow caused us all! Now, however, he is dead and done with!” Then they returned home.
When they got there, lo! they saw the orphan again, not dead at all, wearing the king’s son’s clothes, necklace, and bracelets, splendidly adorned and decked out as you could not imagine! They said one to another, “The orphan is not dead after all! There he is, decked out and strutting in his finery!” They went up to him and asked, “Nephew, how is it that you arrived here so soon?” The orphan answered, “Oh, uncles, my grandmothers and grandfathers sent me back here in a pālkī very quickly. Immediately I arrived there, my grandparents gave me these fine clothes, this necklace, and these bracelets. Only look at them! They sent word, too, that they wanted you also to be told to come to them; as a token, they sent this gold knife—see!” So saying, he showed it to them. Then his uncles said, “How shall we manage to get there?” “Let each one of you take an iron cage with him to the river bank, and get into it there,” answered the orphan. So each man took a cage to the river bank and got inside. Then the orphan tied each tightly up in his iron cage, and threw the eldest brother in his cage into the deep pool. As he fell, quantities of bubbles came up on the surface of the water. The orphan cried, “Look, uncles! My eldest uncle has drunk so much of the rice-beer which my grandparents have given him, that he is vomiting.” Then he brought the next brother and threw him into the water; and so having cast all his six uncles, one after another, into the stream, the orphan returned to his home. Then his aunts, his uncles’ wives, asked him, “When will your uncles come back again?” “They will not come very soon; have they not just met their parents, after being separated from them for so long a time?” replied the orphan. So after waiting three or four nights his aunts asked the orphan again, “Why have your uncles not come back by this time?” He answered, “They will come very soon.” Then after waiting two or three nights more they asked again, “Why have not your uncles come yet?” Then the orphan spoke clearly, “Put each man’s share of rice in the nòksèk.”[8] So his aunts cried, “Ah! they are dead and gone!” And understanding this at last, they wept and made lamentation.
So the orphan became rich, and there was no one left to envy him. And having become a great king, he lived a happy life.
Note.—Two incidents in this story, viz. the profit made by the orphan by disposing of the flesh of his slaughtered calf, and his gain by selling the ashes of his burnt house, and the disappointment of his uncles when they endeavoured to imitate him, much resemble the incidents of a folk-tale given as an illustration of the Tibeto-Burman dialects of Rangkas, Dārmā, Chaudāngs, and Byāngs in vol. iii. Part I., of the Linguistic Survey. These dialects are spoken in the northern portion of Kumaon, on the borders of Tibet. In this version the animals slaughtered are goats and sheep, and the profit is made out of their skins, while the ashes of the burnt house are by an accident exchanged for a load of flour. Still, the motif is the same, and the great distance of the country where this tale is current from that of the Mikirs, and the impossibility of inter-communication, make the coincidences interesting.
MIKIR BOY.
p. 56
OLD MIKIR WOMAN.
p. 59