The Four Difficult Questions.
A certain King put four questions to a Sangha-raja, or Superior of the Buddhist monks. The first one was, “How deep is the sea?” the second, “How many stars are there?” the third, “Which is the centre of the earth?” and fourthly, he must tell the King what he, the King, thought. The Sangha-raja was allowed a certain time in which to find answers to the questions.
One day a monk seeing him sad, asked him the reason, and was told that the King had put these questions to him, and had threatened to take his life if he could not answer them.
The monk told him not to have any fear, and said that he would go on the appointed day, and answer the King. When the day came round, the monk dressed himself in the Sangha-raja’s robes, and appeared before the King, saying that he was ready to answer the questions.
The King asked him, “How deep is the sea?” He replied, “At first it is knee-deep; as you go on it is waist-deep; further on it is up to the neck; and beyond that it is over the head.” The King was satisfied.
He next asked, “How many stars are there?” “Twenty lakshas (two millions),” said the monk. “If you do not believe it, count them.” With this answer, also, the King was satisfied.
He then inquired, “Where is the centre of the earth?” The monk took a staff which he had brought with him, and fixed it upright in the ground. “Here is the centre,” he said. “Measure each way from it, and you will find the distance the same.” The King was satisfied with this answer also.
“Lastly, you must tell me what I am thinking,” the King said. The monk replied, “You think I am the Sangha-raja, but I am only one of his monks.” So the four questions were all answered satisfactorily.
I heard the following version in Cairo:—
A certain King said to his Chief Minister, “Find me a man who can measure the world and show me the centre of it, and who can count me the number of the stars.”
The Minister considered the matter carefully, but could think of no way of complying with the King’s orders. At last his wife said, “I can see that something is troubling you. Tell me what it is; perhaps I can assist you.” Then he told her the orders of the King, and that he did not know where to look for any one who could do what the King desired. “Go,” she said, “to the coffee-dealer’s shop. You will find there a man who is always taking hashish. He may be able to help you” [his mental powers being exalted by the drug].
So he went to the coffee-dealer’s, and told the hashish-eater his difficulty. “I can soon solve these questions for you,” replied the hashish-eater. “Take me to the King.”
Thereupon they proceeded to the palace, and the Minister introduced the hashish-eater to the King. He came with a donkey, which was drawing a great load of rope.
“First show me the centre of the world,” said the King.
“This place is the centre,” said the hashish-eater. “If you doubt it, send your men to drag the other end of this rope up to the sky, and I will prove to you that you are just in the middle.”
“Very well,” said the King, “that is a satisfactory answer. Now give me the number of the stars.”
“Let your people count the hairs on my donkey. You will find that they are exactly equal to the stars in number,” said the man. The King admitted that he could not prove that he was answered incorrectly.
The English version is given in the ballad termed “King John and the Abbot of Canterbury,” and is found in Bishop Percy’s Reliques of Ancient English Poetry (ed. 1844, ii, 328). I give some extracts, etc., for the benefit of readers in Ceylon, because of its resemblance to the second Sinhalese story.
With a view to seizing the Abbot’s wealth, the King put three questions to him, the penalty for failing to answer them being beheading. The Abbot received three weeks’ grace in which to discover the replies, but the wisest doctors could not assist him:
Away rode the Abbot all sad at that word;
And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenforde;
But never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.
However, as in the Kandian version, the shepherd came to his assistance, and took his place on the appointed day, robed as the Abbot, whose features resembled his, and accompanied by the usual train of servants and monks.
Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say,
’Tis well thou’rt come back to keepe thy day;
For and if thou canst answer my questions three,
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.
And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
With my crown of golde so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Tell me to one penny what I am worth.
“For thirty pence our Saviour was sold
Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told;
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,
For I thinke, thou are one penny worser than hee.”
The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,
I did not think I had been worth so littel!
—Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride this whole world about.
“You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,
Until the next morning he riseth againe;
And then your grace need not make any doubt,
But in twenty-four hours you’ll ride it about.”
The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
I did not think, it could be gone so soone!
—Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,
But tell me here truly what I do thinke.
“Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:
You thinke I’m the abbot of Canterbury;
But I’m his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee.”
The king he laughed, and swore by the masse,
Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!
“Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I can neither write, ne reade.”
Four nobles a weeke, then, I will give thee,
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good king John.
[1] The Sinhalese title is, “The manner in which the Youth who looked after the Goats became King.” [↑]
[2] Inferior Gods, ruled by Indra. [↑]
[3] Rāja Gurunnānsē, probably the Purōhita Brāhmaṇa, the King’s spiritual adviser. [↑]
No. 19
The Faithless Princess
In a certain country there is a Prince, it is said. The Prince, saying that women are faithless, does not marry.
The God Śakra having ascertained this, came in the appearance of a man, and asked at the hand of the Prince whether if he created a Princess out of his own very body, and gave her to him, he would be willing to take her in marriage. The Prince said, “It is good.”
Afterwards the God Śakra created a Princess from the Prince’s body, and gave her to him.
When the Prince and Princess, having got married, had been living together for a very long time, the Princess associated with a Nāgayā.[1] When they had been thus for a long time, the Princess and the Nāgayā spoke together as to how to kill the Princess’s Prince. Then the Nāgayā said, “Ask at the hand of the Prince where the Prince’s death is. After you have got to know the place where his death is, I will bite[2] him there.”
After that, the Princess asked at the hand of the Prince, “Where is your death?” The Prince did not tell her. Every day the Princess was asking it. On a certain day the Prince said, “To-day my death is in my thumb.”
Then the Princess told the Nāgayā, “He said that his death is in his thumb.”
So the Nāgayā went [in his snake form, as a cobra], and stopped on the path on which the Prince was going for his bath, in order to bite[2] him.
Afterwards, the Prince’s people went first; the Prince went in the middle. Then the people who went first saw the Nāgayā, and killed it.
Afterwards, the people and the Prince having returned from bathing, the Prince told at the hand of the Princess, “As we were going to bathe to-day a cobra was on the path; my people killed it.” The Princess, clasping her hands with grief, asked, “Where was it?” The Prince told her of the place where the cobra was staying, and she knew that it was the Nāgayā.
Afterwards the Princess having given gold to the goldsmith, and having got a waist-chain made, told him to make a case for it. The goldsmith made it, and gave it. Then the Princess went to the place where the cobra was, and cut off its hood; and placing the cobra in the case of the golden waist-chain, the Princess put it round her waist.
Having it there, when they had eaten and drunk in the evening, and lighted the lamp in the house, both of them went into the house.
Then the Princess said to the Prince, “I will ask you a riddle. Should you be unable to explain it, I will kill you. Should you explain it, you shall kill me.”
The Prince said “Hā,” and both of them swore it.
The Princess saying,
The Nāga belt
(Is) the golden waist-chain.
Explain (it), friend.
Nāga paṭiya
Ran hawaḍiya.
Tōra, sakiya.
told the Prince to solve it. For fifteen pāēyas (six hours), without extinguishing the lamp, he tried and tried to explain it. He could not. So she was to kill the Prince next day.
A Dēvatāwā (godling) who drank the smoke of the lamp of that house, was there looking on [invisibly] until the lamp was extinguished. After the lamp was put out, having drunk a little smoke, he took a little that was only slightly burnt with him for his wife. The Dēvatāwā and Dēvatāwī lived in an Ironwood tree on the roadside.
This Prince’s elder sister, and the man to whom she was given in marriage, having set off to come to the Prince’s city, stayed that night at the resting-place under the Ironwood tree.
Then that Dēvatāwā having brought a little of the under-burnt smoke of the lamp, after he had given it to the Dēvatāwī she quarrelled with him until fifteen pāēyas (six hours) had gone, saying, “Where have you been?”
The Dēvatāwā said, “Do not quarrel. In such and such a city, such and such a Prince’s Princess having associated with a Nāgayā, the Prince’s people killed the Nāgayā. Having cut off the Nāgayā’s hood, and laid aside her golden waist-chain, putting it round her waist in order to kill the Prince, because of her anger at the killing of the Nāgayā, the Princess told a riddle to the Prince. Having sworn that should the Prince be unable to solve it she is to kill the Prince: should he solve it he is to kill the Princess, the Princess said,
The Nāga belt
Is the golden waist-chain.
Explain it, friend.
“From the evening, without extinguishing the lamp, he tried to solve it. The Prince could not explain it. After fifteen pāēyas had gone by, he put out the light. Up to the very time when he extinguished the lamp, so long I remained there. She said that she will kill the Prince to-morrow.”
Hearing it, there stayed below the Ironwood tree the Prince’s elder sister, and the man to whom she was given. After having heard it, as it became light, when they were coming along to the Prince’s house, they saw from afar that they were going to behead the Prince. The elder sister said from afar, “Ā! Don’t behead him. I will solve that riddle.”
Having come near, the Prince’s elder sister explained the riddle in the manner stated by the Dēvatāwā. So the Prince was saved, and they beheaded the Princess.
North-western Province.
In Folk-Tales of Kashmir (Knowles), 2nd ed., p. 227, a Fakīr split a King, and made a wife for him from half his body, but warned him that she would be unfaithful. She fell in love with one of his wazīrs, but they were detected, and she was killed.
[1] A supernatural being who could take at will either a human form or the shape of a cobra (nayā or nāga). [↑]
[2] Dohṭa karanawā = Dashṭa k., to give a poisonous bite. [↑]
No. 20
The Prince who did not go to School
In a certain country there is a King, it is said, and there are two Princes of the King. The two Princes are sent to school, and as they are going from the palace the two go along together. After they have walked a little way, the younger brother goes along the path to the school, and having arrived at the school, learns his letters and returns home. The elder brother, after playing and playing in the water of the river, puts the school aside, it is said; and having come round that way and joined the younger brother, again comes to the palace with him.
After many days had gone by in that manner, the King one day told the two Princes, “To-day I must look at your lessons.”
The younger brother said, “Father-King, I indeed go to the school, and having said my lessons return. Elder brother and I having met here, and set off together, after we have gone part of the way, where elder brother goes I do not know. Having gone somewhere or other, when I have left the school and am returning, elder brother meets me on the road, and we two come again to the palace. I can say my lessons; elder brother indeed cannot.”
After that, the King looked into the lessons of the two Princes. When he looked, the younger Prince’s lessons were good. When he asked the elder Prince, he knew nothing. So the King settled to behead the elder Prince.
The King had, besides, a Prince older than that Prince. He said to that elder Prince, “Behead this one.”
Then the Prince having taken a sword to the chena jungle, and killed a “Blood-sucker” lizard (Calotes sp.), returned after rubbing the blood on the sword, and showed it to the King. “Behold! Father-King, I cut younger brother,” he said. Afterwards their mother having cooked a bundle of rice, and given it, and also a sword, to the Prince who was ordered to be beheaded, said, “Go to any place you like.”
As the Prince was going away taking the bundle of cooked rice and the sword, he met with a man. The man having uprooted Palmira trees and Coconut trees, was taking them away and tying a fence. Having seen this, the Prince said to that man, “Come thou and go with me.”
The man having said “Hā,” as the two persons were going along together, another man was cutting the earthen ridges in a rice field. The blade of the man’s digging hoe was as large as a liyadda (one of the squares into which the rice field was divided). Having seen that, the Prince said to that man who was cutting the ridge in the field, “Come thou and go with me.”
The man having said “Hā,” and laid down his digging hoe at that very place, came away with those two persons. As the three were going along together, they saw yet a man ploughing. Having seen that the man ploughed a liyadda at one ploughing (furrow), the Prince said, “Come thou and go with me.” The man said “Hā,” and laying down his plough at that very place, went with the three persons. The three persons whom the Prince had met with on the way were three giants.
The four persons having gone on and on, went near the house of a Rākshasī at a city. Sitting down there, the Prince said to one of the giants, “There! Go to that house and bring thou cooking pots and fire.” So that giant went to the house of the Rākshasī.
As he arrived there, the Rākshasī was pouring water over (i.e. bathing) a child. The giant went near the Rākshasī, and said, “Anē! Give me fire and cooking pots.” The Rākshasī told him the way to the house in which she ate human flesh, and said, “There! They are in that house; take them.” After that, at the time when the giant was going into the house, the Rākshasī went running and shut the door, so that the giant could not come out.
Those two giants and the Prince remained a long time looking out; the giant did not come. Afterwards the Prince again told a giant to go. The giant having gone, asked the Rākshasī, “Didn’t a man come here?”
The Rākshasī said, “He did not come here.”
Then the giant said, “If so, give me cooking pots and fire.” Then the Rākshasī, in the same manner in which she told that giant, showed him the way to the house in which she ate human flesh. As the giant was going into the house, the Rākshasī, having gone running, shut the door.
That Prince and the third giant having been there a long time, neither of the giants came. Afterwards the Prince told the other giant to go. The giant went, and asked the Rākshasī, “Didn’t two men come here?”
The Rākshasī said, “They did not come here.”
So the giant said, “If so, give me cooking pots and fire.” The Rākshasī, in that very way having told him the path to the house in which she ate human flesh, at the time when the giant was going into it shut the door.
The Prince remained looking out for a long time; the three giants did not come. Afterwards the Prince, taking his sword, came near the Rākshasī, and asked, “Didn’t three men come here?”
The Rākshasī said, “They did not come here.”
Then the Prince, seizing the Rākshasī’s hair knot, prepared to chop at her with the sword. “Give me quickly my three men; if not, I shall chop thy head off,” he said.
Then the Rākshasī, saying, “Anē! Do not kill me. At any place where you want it I will assist you,” gave him the three men.
After that, the Prince and the three giants having gone away without killing the Rākshasī, the Prince caused the three giants to stay at a city; and having given into their hands a Blue-lotus flower, said, “Should I not be alive, this Blue-lotus flower will fade, and the lime trees at your house will die.” So saying, the Prince, taking his sword, went quite alone.
After going a long way he came to a city, and having gone to the house of a Rākshasa, when he looked, the Rākshasa had gone for human flesh as food and only a girl was there. The Prince asked the girl for a resting-place.
The girl said, “Anē! What have you come here for? A Rākshasa lives at this house. The Rākshasa having eaten the men of this city they are now finished.”
The Prince said, “I will kill him. Are there dried coconuts and menēri[1] here?” The girl said there were. The Prince told her to bring them, and the girl brought them.
Then the Prince asked, “How does he come to eat men?”
The girl said, “Having come twelve miles—(three gawwas)—away, he cries, ‘Hū’; having come eight miles away, he cries, ‘Hū’; and having come four miles away, he cries, ‘Hū’; and then he comes to this house.”
After that, the Prince having spread out, from the stile at the fence, the menēri seed and the dried coconuts, over the whole of the open ground near the front of the house, went to sleep in the veranda, placing the sword near him, and laying his head on the waist pocket of the girl.
Then the Rākshasa, when twelve miles away, cried, “Hū.” Tears fell from the girl’s eyes, and dropped on the Prince’s head. The Prince arose, and said to the girl, “What are you weeping for?”
Then the Rākshasa cried, “Hū,” eight miles away. The girl said, “There! The Rākshasa cried, ‘Hū,’ eight miles away.” Continuing to say, “He will cry, ‘Hū,’ the next time, and then come here,” the girl wept.
The Prince, having told the girl not to weep, took the sword in his hand, and while he was there the Rākshasa, crying “Hū,” came into the open space near the house.
Then the Prince chopped at the Rākshasa with his sword, and the Rākshasa went backward. Thereupon the Prince said, “Will not even the Rākshasī whom I set free that day without killing her, render assistance in this?”
The Rākshasī came immediately, and struck a thorn into the crown of the Rākshasa’s head, and at that very instant the Rākshasa died. After that, the Prince buried the body, and marrying the girl remained there.
When he had been there a long time, a widow-mother came and said to the Prince and the girl, “Children, I will come and live with you, as you are alone.” Both of them said “Hā,” so the woman stayed there.
After she had lived there a long time, the woman said to the girl, “Daughter, ask in what place is the life of the Prince.”
Afterwards the girl said to the Prince, “Mother is asking where your life is.”
The Prince said, “My life is in my neck.”
The girl told the woman, “I asked him; he said his life is in his neck.”
The woman said, “It is not in the neck. He is speaking falsely. Ask again.” So the girl asked again.
The Prince said, “My life is in my breast.”
The girl told the woman, “He said it is in his breast.”
The woman said, “It is not in the breast. Tell him to speak the truth.”
Afterwards she said again to the Prince, “Mother says it is not in your breast. She said that you are to speak the truth.”
Then the Prince said, “My life is in my sword.”
So the girl told the widow-mother, “He said it is in his sword.”
When a long time had gone by, one day the Prince, laying down the sword, went to sleep. After the Prince had gone to sleep, the widow woman and that girl having quietly taken the sword, put it in the fire on the hearth. Then as the sword burnt and burnt away the Prince died.
After that, the widow woman took the girl, and gave her to the King, and the woman also stayed at the palace.
Then the Blue-lotus flower which the Prince gave to those three giants on going away, faded, and the lime trees died. When the giants saw this they said, “Aḍē! Our elder brother will have died,” and having spoken together, the three giants came to seek the Prince.
Having come there, and asked the men of the city at which the Prince stayed, regarding him, they went to the house in which he lived, and searched for him. As they were digging in a heap of rubbish, they found that a little bit of the end of the sword was there, and they took it. Afterwards the giants placed it on a bed, and after they had tended it carefully, the sword little by little became larger. When the sword became completely restored, the Prince was created afresh.
Afterwards, when the Prince looked to see if the girl whom he had taken in marriage was there, neither the girl nor the widow-mother was there. Then the Prince went with the three giants to the King’s palace, and on looking there they learnt that the girl was married to the King, and that the widow woman also was there. So the Prince said to the widow woman, “Quickly give me the Princess whom I married.”
The woman said, “Anē! The Princess whom I knew is not here. She did not come with me.”
Then the Prince cut off the woman’s head with his sword, and having gone to the King, asked, “Where is my Princess? You must give her to me.”
The King said, “No Princess will be here.”
Thereupon the Prince cut off the King’s head with his sword; and he and the three giants having cut down all the servants who were in the palace, summoning the Princess, remained in that very palace.
North-western Province.
The giving a plant or flower as a life index, which fades when illness or danger besets the giver, and dies at his death, is a very common incident in folk-tales.
In Wide-Awake Stories (Steel and Temple), p. 52—Tales of the Punjab (Steel), p. 47—it was a barley plant.
In Folk-Tales of Bengal (Day), p. 189, a Prince planted a tree as his life index, and said, “When you see the tree green and fresh then you know that it is well with me; when you see the tree fade in some parts, then you know that I am in an ill case; and when you see the whole tree fade, then know that I am dead and gone.”
In Totā Kahānī (Small), p. 43, when a man was about to leave his wife, she gave him a nosegay of flowers which would retain their freshness if she were faithful to him, and fade if she misconducted herself.
In The Indian Antiquary, vol. xvii, p. 54, a plant was given to each of two persons, as a Prince’s life index. He said, “If this plant should fade, know that I am sick or in danger; if it should die know that I also am dead.”
The notion that a person’s life may be concealed in some external object, usually a bird or a bee, is one of the commonest features of folk-tales.
In the story numbered 24 in this volume, the King’s life was in a golden parrot.
In Wide-Awake Stories, p. 59—Tales of the Punjab, p. 52—a Jinni’s life was in a bee, which was in a golden cage inside the crop (?) of a Maina [bird].
At pp. 62, 63, Tales of the Punjab, p. 55, a Prince’s life was in his sword. When this was placed in the fire he felt a burning fever, and when it was made red-hot and a rivet came out of the hilt, his head came off. Afterwards, when the sword was repaired and repolished, the Prince was restored to life.
At p. 83, Tales of the Punjab, p. 75, the life of a Princess was in a nine-lakh necklace, which was in a box inside a bee that lived in the body of a fish. When asked about it, she first said that her life was in each of the seven sons of the wicked Queen who wanted to kill her, all of whom were murdered by the Queen.
In Folk-Tales of Kashmir (Knowles), 2nd ed., p. 49, the lives of Rākshasas were in seven cocks, a spinning-wheel, a pigeon, and a starling.
At p. 134, the life of one was in a veranda pillar at his house; when it was broken he died.
At p. 383, the life of one was in a queen-bee in a honey-comb hanging on a tree.
In Folk-Tales of Bengal (Day), pp. 2 and 6, the life of a Prince was in a golden necklace deposited in a wooden box which was in the heart of a fish.
At pp. 85 and 86, the lives of seven hundred Rākshasas were in two bees which were on the top of a crystal pillar, deep in the water of a tank. If a drop of their blood fell on the ground, a thousand Rākshasas would start up from it.
At p. 121, the life of a Rākshasī was in a bird that was in a cage. As its limbs were torn off, a corresponding limb dropped off the Rākshasī who had been made the Queen.
At p. 253, the lives of two Rākshasas (m. and f.) were in two bees that were in a wooden box at the bottom of a tank. If a person who killed them allowed a drop of their blood to fall on the ground, he would be torn into seven hundred pieces by the Rākshasas.
In The Indian Antiquary, vol. i, p. 86, in a Dardu legend (G. W. Leitner), the life of a King of Gilgit was in snow, and he could only die by fire.
At p. 117, in a Bengal story (G. H. Damant), the lives of Rākshasas were in two bees in a gourd which was inside a crystal pillar at the bottom of a tank. If one drop of the bees’ blood fell on the ground, the Rākshasas would be twice as numerous as before. The bees were killed by being squeezed to death.
At p. 171, in a Bengal story (G. H. Damant), the lives of Rākshasas were in a lemon, and a bird. When the lemon was cut in Bengal, the Rākshasas in Ceylon died. As the bird’s wings were broken, the Rākshasī Queen’s arms were broken; when the bird died, she died.
In vol. xvi, p. 191, the life of a giant was in a parrot; when it was killed he died.
In vol. xvii, p. 51, a Prince’s life was in a sword; if it rusted he was sick, and if it broke he died.
In Folk-Tales of Hindustan, Allahabad (Shaik Chilli), p. 51, the life of a Prince was in the brightness of his sword. When it was placed in a furnace and lost the brightness, he died. A giant who was his friend found it, and discovering that a little brightness remained at the tip, rubbed it until it regained its lustre, on which the Prince revived.
At p. 114, the lives of Rākshasas were in a number of birds; they died when these were killed.
In a tale of the interior of W. Africa in Contes Soudanais (C. Monteil), p. 154, the life of a King was in a little box inside a small goat-skin, which was in a little pot placed inside a large pot. When the King was told this he died.
Doubtless this strange notion of a life safeguarded by being hidden away, is of early date, and may be due originally to the early magical idea prevalent in Egypt, Assyria, and India, that a person might be killed from any distance by piercing the heart of a figurine formed to represent him. This action is mentioned in the Commentary on the Atharva Veda (Bloomfield’s translation, p. 359); and in the Rigveda, i, 29, 7 (Griffith’s translation), prayer is made to Indra for the destruction of “him who in secret injures us.”
In the Jātaka story No. 208 (vol. ii, p. 111), a monkey escaped from a crocodile that was going to kill it in order to get its heart, by telling it that monkeys kept their hearts hanging on trees.
In the Mahā Bhārata, Vana Parva, 135, 52, a Ṛishi caused buffaloes to shatter a mountain, and thereby killed a child whose life was dependent on its existence, if not supposed to be actually in it.
The recovery of the three giants from the house of the Rākshasī is evidently based on the story of Wijaya, the first King of Ceylon, and Kuwēnī, a female Yakkha or aboriginal Princess, who, taking the form of a devotee, had captured his followers one by one, and imprisoned them.
The story is given in the Mahāvansa, chapter vii, as follows:—“All these persons not returning, Wijaya becoming alarmed, equipping himself with the five weapons of war, proceeded after them; and examining the delightful pond [to which they had gone to bathe], he could perceive footsteps leading down only into the tank; and he there saw the devotee. It occurred to him: ‘My retinue must surely have been seized by her.’ ‘Woman, hast thou seen my attendants?’ said he. ‘Prince,’ she replied, ‘what need hast thou of attendants? Do drink and bathe ere thou departest.’ Saying to himself, ‘Even my lineage, this Yakkhinī is acquainted with it,’ proclaiming his title, and quickly seizing his bow, he rushed at her. Securing the Yakkhinī by the throat with a ‘nārācana’ ring, with his left hand seizing her by the hair, and raising his sword with his right hand, he exclaimed, ‘Slave! restore me my followers, or I will put thee to death.’ The Yakkhinī, terrified, implored that her life might be spared. ‘Lord! spare my life; on thee I will confer this sovereignty; unto thee I will render the favours of my sex, and every other service according to thy desire.’ In order that she might not prove herself treacherous, he made the Yakkhinī take an oath. While he was in the act of saying, ‘Instantly produce my followers,’ she brought them forth” (Mahāvansa, i, p. 32).
The idea of the thorn which was driven into the head of the Rākshasa, is borrowed from magical practice. In the case of a figurine made for the destruction or injury of a person, pins or nails or thorns were run into various parts of the body, one being inserted in the crown of the head. In a variant of the story numbered 73 in this work, a female Yakā was kept in subjection by means of an iron nail that was driven into the crown of the head.
In Indian Fairy Tales (Stokes), p. 12, a pin was fixed in the head of a woman who had been transformed into a bird. When it was drawn out she resumed her human form.
In The Illustrated Guide to the South Indian Railway, 1900, p. 232, it is stated regarding the great stone Bull, 12 feet high, at the Tanjore temple, that “it was popularly supposed by the natives that this bull was growing, and as they feared it might become too large for the mandapam [stone canopy] erected over it a nail was driven into the back of its head, and since this was done the size of the monolith has remained stationary.”
[1] Panicum sp., probably miliare, an edible grass seed. [↑]
No. 21
Nagul-Munnā
In a village there were two persons called Nagul-Munnā and Mun-aeṭa Guruwā. While those two were living there they spoke together, “Friend, while we two are remaining in this way matters are not going on properly.” At the time when they spoke thus, Mun-aeṭa Guruwā replied to Nagul-Munnā’s talk, and said, “It is good, friend. If that be so let us two cut a chena.”
Having spoken thus, the two persons went to the chena jungle, and there being no watch-hut there, built one; and taking supplies week by week, began to chop down the bushes while they were living at the house in the jungle. Having chopped down the jungle, and burnt it, and sown the chena, the millet plants grew to a very large size.
When the two persons were at the watch-hut they remained talking one night for a long time, and said, “To-morrow we must go to the village to bring back supplies.” After talking thus, they went to sleep, both of them.
During the time while they were sleeping, Mun-aeṭa Guruwā’s clothes caught fire. Then Nagul-Munnā awoke, and jumped down to the ground, and ran away. Mun-aeṭa Guruwā was burnt in the shed and died. On account of his being killed, through fear of being charged with causing his death, Nagul-Munnā bounded off into the jungle, and did not return to the village.
That day the relatives of those people who were in the village, thinking, “Nagul-Munnā and Mun-aeṭa Guruwā will be coming to fetch supplies,” getting ready the supplies, stayed looking for them. On that day the two persons did not come; because they did not come two men went from the village to look for them.
The two having gone and looked, and seen that the watch-hut had been burnt, spoke together concerning it: “Both these men have been burnt and died. Let us go back to the village.” So they returned.
Nagul-Munnā, who sprang into the jungle that night, having come home during the night of the following day, spoke to his wife, who was in the house. The woman, thinking that he had died, was frightened at his speech, and cried out, “Nagul-Munnā has been born as a Yakā, and having come here is doing something to me.” At that cry the men of the village came running; when they looked he was not there, having run off through fear of being seized.
In that manner he came on two days. The woman, being afraid, did not open the door. On the third day he arose, and hid himself at the tank near the village. While he was there, a tom-tom beater having gone to a devil-dance,[1] came bringing a bit of cooked rice, and a box containing his mask and decorations.[2]
As he was coming along bringing them, this Nagul-Munnā having seen him, went and beat the tom-tom beater, and taking the bit of cooked rice and the box of devil-dancer’s things, bounded into the jungle. Having sprung into the jungle, and eaten the bit of rice, he unfastened the box of devil-dancer’s goods, and taking the things in it, dressed himself in them, putting the jingling bracelets[3] on his arms and the jingling anklets[4] on his legs.
There was a large mask in it. Taking it, and tying it on his face, he went to the village when it became night, and having gone to a house there, broke the neck of a calf that was tied near it, and sprang into the rice-field near by. Having made a noise by shaking the jingling bracelets, and given three cries, “Hū, Hū, Hū,” he shouted, “If you do not give a leaf-cup of rice and a young coconut at dawn, and at night a leaf-cup of rice and a young coconut, I will kill all the cattle and men that are in your village, and having drunk their blood, go away.”
The men of the village becoming afraid on account of it, began to give rice every day in the way he said. Having given it for about four or five years in this manner, the men spoke together, “Let us fetch a sooth-sayer to seize that Yakā.” After having said concerning it, “It is good,” they fetched a doctor (Vedā).
When the doctor went to the tank to catch that Yakā, Nagul-Munnā came, and seizing that doctor, cut his bathing cloth, and having taken him to the place where he was staying, killed him, and trampled on his bathing cloth. Through the seizing and killing of the doctor, the men of the village became afraid to a still greater degree.
After that, having talked about bringing another sooth-sayer they fetched one. In the same manner, when he went to the tank the Yakā killed the sooth-sayer. At that deed the men of the village became more afraid still.
Having fetched a Sannyāsi (a Hindu religious mendicant) from Jaffna, they went to him, and told him to seize the Yakā. That man said, “It is good”; and having gone to the aforesaid tank to look for him, the Yakā was in a tree. So the sooth-sayer repeated incantations to cause the Yakā to descend. The Yakā did not descend.
After that, because he did not descend, that person got to know that he was a man, and on his calling “Hū,” to the men of the village the men came. Afterwards, seizing Nagul-Munnā, who was in the tree, they went to the village.
Because Mun-aeṭa Guruwā had died, the relatives of Mun-aeṭa Guruwā came for their [legal] action against him.
Saying that he had cheated them, and eaten food wrongly obtained from them, the men of the village came for their action.
Because he had stolen the rice and the box with tom-tom beater’s things in it, the tom-tom beater came for his action.
Saying that he killed the first sooth-sayer, his people came for their action.
The second sooth-sayer’s people also in the same way came for their action.
For his killing the calf the owner came for his action.
After all who had brought these actions had came to one spot, the man, saying, “Because my wife told me to cut the chena together with Mun-aeṭa Guruwā, and through my cutting the chena with him, this happened,” killed his own wife.
Then, while he was going for his trial a bear bit that man on the way, and he died.
North-western Province.
In The Orientalist, vol. iii, p. 31, there is a nearly similar story of a tom-tom beater who was supposed to be burnt in his watch hut. In reality, it was a beggar who was burnt. The man being afraid of being charged with murdering him, got hid in the jungle. He came to his house at night, but was supposed to be the Mala upan Yakā, “the evil spirit born from the dead,” and was refused admittance by his wife, who gave an alarm. As men were coming on hearing it, he ran off. On another night when he came, his wife assailed him with a volley of invectives, as demon-scarers; so carrying off his dancing paraphernalia, he again retired, and afterwards robbed travellers, and frightened the people till they threatened to leave the district. The King offered a handsome reward for his apprehension, but he tied up a Kaṭṭaḍiyā or devil priest who came to exorcise him. In the end he was captured by a Buddhist monk, taken before the King, and after relating his adventures, appears to have been allowed to go unpunished.
In the Jātaka story No. 257 (vol. ii, p. 209), there is an account of four actions brought against one man on the same day. It is a folk-tale in Ceylon also.
No. 22
The Kulē-bakā Flowers
In a certain country a King was ruling; the King was without children. The King having performed many meritorious deeds, five children were born.
When they looked into the Naekata (or prognostics resulting from the positions of the planets) at the time when the children were born, those of four were good, but that of the fifth child was that on seeing him his father’s two eyes would become blind. The King told them to take the Prince and put him down in the forest. So having taken the Prince they put him in the forest.
After that, animals having come through the favour of the Prince’s guardian deity, gave him milk, and reared him.
After much time had passed, the Prince’s father, the King, went to have the jungle driven (for shooting); and having gone, while they were driving the jungle that Prince came, and bounded round the King’s enclosure. Then, the King having seen him his eyes became blind, and he went away without his eyes seeing anything. The people who went with the King, lifting him up, carried him to the palace.
Having arrived there, various medical treatments were applied; he was not cured. After that, he caused sooth-sayers to be brought, and after he had asked them regarding it, they said, “By applying medical treatment you will not meet with a cure. In the midst of the Forest of the Gods there is a flower called Kulē-bakā. Having brought that flower, and burnt it on your eyes, your eyes will see.”
Afterwards the King asked the people, “Who is able to bring this flower?” All the people said they could not do it. Then the four eldest Princes of the King, having said, “Let us go,” asked permission of the King; the King told them to go. So the four persons having started, went.
As they were going, the four persons went to a city. A courtesan stayed in that city; her name was Diribari-Lakā.[1] She gambled (i.e. kept a gambling house). These four persons went to her house, and having gone there prepared to gamble. Then the woman said, “Should you lose by this game, I shall make you four persons prisoners (that is, slaves).” The four persons having said, “It is good,” gambled, and all four having lost remained there as prisoners.
The Prince who was in the forest, having got to know all these matters, also set off to seek the flower, and on his way arrived at the city at which the Princes who were made prisoners were staying. This one, having gone to the King of the city, was appointed to do messenger’s work there. While he was living thus, this one obtained news that the courtesan was gambling, and thereupon this Prince asked the King for leave of absence. Having obtained it, he went to the house of an old woman near the courtesan’s house.
Having gone there, this Prince having fallen down near the feet of that old woman and made obeisance, weeping and weeping, these words are what he said, “Mother, are you in the enjoyment of health? Do not you let your face be even visible (to) scrofulous offspring. When lightning has struck you (may it) take your progeny.”[2] Having spoken and spoken with these honours he remained weeping. The woman’s child, not of small age, was there, and having said similar things to the child also, and while weeping having paid respect, the woman made that Prince rise, and asked him, “Where were you for such a long period?”
“I was with a King,” the Prince said. “Mother, whose is that house?” he asked.
The woman said, “Why, son? Do not say anything about it. That house is the house of a courtesan. There is a gambling game of that woman’s, and by it many persons, having lost, remain as prisoners.”
The Prince asked, “Mother, how does one win by that game?”
Then the woman said, “A bent lamp having been lighted, is placed at the gambling place. Below the lamp a cat is sitting. While the woman is gambling the cat raises its head; then victory falls to the woman. When another person is playing the cat lowers its head; then defeat falls to that man. If you are to win, having extinguished the bent lamp, and driven away the cat, and brought and placed there another lamp, if you should then play you can win.”
After that, the Prince went to gamble. Having gone there, when he was ready to gamble she said, “Should you lose in gambling, you will be condemned to imprisonment; should you win you marry me.”
The Prince said, “It is good,” and gambled. When he was losing, he extinguished the lamp, and having beaten and driven away the cat, he told the woman to bring another lamp. After that, the woman brought a lamp. Having brought and placed the lamp there, they gambled. The woman having lost all, the Prince won. Afterwards, that woman married this Prince.
During the time while he was living there, as this Prince was starting to go and bring the Kulē-bakā flower, the woman said, “Don’t go.”
The Prince said, “I did not come for this gambling; I came for the Kulē-bakā flower. I must indeed go, after having set off for this purpose,” he said. So the Prince went to bring the flower. Before this, he had allowed the imprisoned men to go, and said to the four Princes, “Stop until I return.”
Having thus gone, he entered into the midst of a forest. While he was there, human-flesh-eating serpents and forest animals that were in the midst of the forest sprang to devour this Prince, but he made supplication to his deity, so they were unable to do it, and went away.
Then the Yakā who was guarding the Kulē-bakā garden, having seen the Prince, and having arisen and come near the Prince, asked, “Have you, a man born in the world of men, come into my presence to be a prey to me?”
The Prince said, “My father the King for a fault said he must behead me. On account of it, having made my way into the midst of the forest, I have come to you for you to eat indeed. If you are going to eat me, eat me; if you are going to keep me, keep me alive.”
After that, the Yakā asked, “What do you eat?”
The Prince said, “We eat wheat flour, ghī, sugar, and camels’ flesh.[3] These indeed we eat.”
All these requisites having been brought by the Yakā, after he had given them to the Prince, the Prince made the food, and gave to the Yakā also.
The Yakā having eaten the food, sprang up into the air, and said to the Prince, “I never ate a meal like this. I will do anything you tell me.”
Then the Prince said to the Yakā, “Where is the path to go to the Kulē-bakā garden?”
The Yakā sprang up into the air, and fell on the ground, and beating his head, said, “If you had said so before this, by this time I should have eaten you. What can I do now that I have promised to help you?” Having said, “Go away from here,” he told him about the path.
Then the Prince went along it. There, also, a Yaksanī[4] (female Yakā) was guarding it, and the Prince came to her. The Yaksanī asked the Prince, “Where are you going?”
The Prince said, “Having delayed in the midst of a forest, as I was returning I was unable to find the country with my village. Now I have met with you here.”
As he appeared good to the Yaksanī she caused him to stay there, and married her daughter to him. The name of the girl to whom the Prince was married was Maha-Mudā.[5]
During the time while he was there the Prince remained angry.
The girl asked, “What are you angry for?”
The Prince said, “I must go to look at the Kulē-bakā garden.”
Then the girl spoke about this matter to her mother. So that woman having fetched rats, caused a tunnel to be made by them to the Kulē-bakā garden. Along that tunnel the Prince went to the flower garden, and having gone there, and plucked the flowers, came back again.
Having returned there, calling Maha-Mudā he came to the house of Diribari-Lakā. Having arrived there, he burnt on the lower part of the back the four Princes who had remained as prisoners. The Prince who went for the Kulē-bakā flowers having burnt in this way the four Princes, who stayed as slaves at the house of Diribari-Lakā, these four persons were freed from imprisonment.
Then the Prince, Maha-Mudā, and Diribari-Lakā, taking the flowers, came to the Prince’s native country. Having arrived there, he burnt the Kulē-bakā flowers on the two eyes of his father the King, and the two eyes of the King became well.
After that, the King having asked the Prince regarding these matters, learnt that he was the King’s Prince, [and he and his two wives continued to live there with him].
North-western Province.
In Wide-Awake Stories (Steel and Temple), p. 276 ff.—Tales of the Punjab, p. 263, 264—a rat assisted King Sarkap in games at Chaupur (the Pachīs game), until it was frightened by a kitten that Prince Rasālu had rescued from a potter’s kiln.
At p. 250 of the former work it was predicted that if his father saw the Prince during the twelve years after his birth, he (the father) would die.
In Indian Nights’ Entertainment, Panjāb (Swynnerton), p. 319, a rat which had been saved from drowning assisted a girl to defeat a Princess at Chaupur, by attracting the attention of a cat that moved the pieces for the Princess. The cat was struck by the girl while trying to seize the rat which she held; when it ran off she won.
In Folk-Tales of Kashmir (Knowles), 2nd ed., p. 149, the cat belonging to a female gambler, at a sign from her mistress, extinguished the lamp whenever the game was going against her.
In Folk-Tales of Bengal (Day), p. 277, a Princess, in order to get back her husband, started a gambling establishment at which they gambled with dice, the stake being one hundred thousand rupees, together with the imprisonment of the loser at her house. Her ruse was successful. A rich merchant’s son, the Prefect’s son, the Minister’s son, and the Prince, all came in turn and lost.
[2] On account of the strangeness of this speech, I give the Sinhalese words as they were written: Umba kaburupanjāti jāti umbē muna (sic.) penenḍawat epā. Umbaṭa hena waediyāmin umbē jātakayā ganin. It appears to be a Rabelaisian joke, and was considered such by the person who narrated it. [↑]
[3] Oṭunnē mālu. This proves that the story is Indian, and perhaps from the Panjāb, there being no camels in Ceylon. [↑]
[4] The usual village spelling. [↑]
No. 23
Kurulu-gama Appu, the Sooth-sayer
In a certain city a man was stricken by a scarcity of food to eat, and he went to another country. Having gone there, during the time while he was residing in a village, the village men asked, “What sooth can you tell?”[1] He said, “I can tell one sooth; to do that sooth I want Jak-tree gum, Coconut oil, and Euphorbia milk” (the milky sap which exudes from cuts or bruises in the bark). Thereupon the men having collected those things that he mentioned, gave them to him.
Then he went and warmed these things [making bird-lime] and placed [limed] twigs, and catching birds and coming with them, he gave them daily, two by two at each house, and thus ate. The man’s name was Appu; his village was Kurulu-gama (Birds’ village).
While he was continuing to eat in this manner, the men of that village started to go to Puttalam, carrying produce for sale. That man also said, “I also must go.” Then the men of the village asked, “You have nothing; what will you take?” Thereupon this one tying up a pingo load of chaff and coconut husks, goes with the men.
Then the men who were going on that journey, having come down to the high road, set off to go. While they were going, the men having said [in fun] “Vedarāla” (Doctor) to that man, he kept the name.
Having gone very far, the Vedarāla, telling the men who went with him to wait on the road, placed his pingo (carrying-stick) on the road, and went into an open place in the jungle. While going along in it, when he looked about, a yoke of cattle were entangled in the bushes. Then this Vedarāla having gone near the yoke of cattle, looked at the letter marks branded on them, and having come back and taken up the pingo load, while they were going on it became night.
This party having halted on the road near a village, sent the Vedarāla to get a resting-place for the night. Having gone to a house in the village, when he asked for it the house men said, “What giving of resting-places is there for us! We are lamenting in sorrow for the difficulty we are in. Our yoke of cattle are missing.”
The Vedarāla said, “Now then, what have we to do with your losing a yoke of cattle? Give us a resting-place.”
“If you want one, look there! There is the shed, come and stay there,” they said.
Then the Vedarāla having come back, says to the people of the party, “There is a shed indeed. Stay if you like; go on, if you want to go,” he said. So this party having come to the shed sat down.
The people of the party said to the Vedarāla, “Vedarāla, why are you staying looking about? Night is coming on. We must seek a little firewood and water,” they spoke together.
The house persons having heard these words, said, “What is this, that you are saying ‘Vedarāla’? Does he know sooth and the like?” they asked.[2]
The persons of the party said without a reason for it (nikamaṭa), “To a certain extent he can tell matters of sooth.”
“If so, don’t be delayed on account of anything you want. We will bring and give you rice, firewood, and water.” So they brought and gave them five quarts of rice, a dried fish, a head of ash-plantains.
This party, cooking amply, and having eaten, said at night to the person who owned the house, “Now then, bring a packet of betel leaves for him to tell you sooth.” So the house person having brought the betel, gave it to the Vedarāla.
Thereupon the assumed (lit. “face”) Vedarāla, having taken the betel, after having looked at it falsely becoming “possessed,” said, “It is a yoke of oxen of yours that have been lost, isn’t it?”
Then the house person said, “You have said the sooth very correctly. I asked it of the deities of many dēwālas (demon-temples), and of sooth-sayers. There wasn’t a person who told me even a sign of it.”
Thereafter the Vedarāla asked, “What will you give me for seeking and giving you the yoke of cattle?”
That person said, “Even if you can’t give the full yoke of cattle, I will give a half share of the value”; thus he promised.
The Vedarāla having said, “It is good,” and told him to get and bring a torch, cunningly having gone near the yoke of cattle that remained entangled in the bush at that place where he went on coming, asked if these were his oxen. Then the man said, “These are indeed my cattle,” and having unfastened them and come back, in the morning gave him a half share[3] of the value of the cattle. Taking it, and throwing away the chaff and coconut husks, he went away.
That day also, having gone on until the time when it was becoming night, he got a resting-place in the very way in which, having spoken before, he got one. At the time when they were in the shed the persons of the party said, “Vedarāla, what are you staying looking about for? We must seek and get firewood and water.”
Then the house people say, “What are you saying ‘Vedarāla’ for? Does he know to say sooth and the like?”
After that, this party say, “He can also tell sooth. Last night he sought and gave a yoke of cattle.”
Then the house persons quickly having brought rice, fish, firewood, water, gave them to the men.
This party having amply cooked and eaten, while they were sleeping, the house person, having brought a packet of betel leaves, spoke to the Vedarāla: “How am I to ask sooth?”
The Vedarāla rebuked him. “All these persons being now without memory or understanding, what saying of sooth is there?”[4] Then that one having gone, he went to sleep.
A woman of the house was there; her name was Sihibuddī. The woman having heard the words which the Vedarāla said, came and having softly awakened the Vedarāla, said, “The Sihibuddī you mention is I indeed. It was I indeed who stole this house person’s packet of warāgan.[5] I will give you a share; don’t mention it.”
Thereupon the Vedarāla says, “Where is it? Bring it quickly, and having brought it place it near that clump of plantains.”
Then this woman having brought the packet of warāgan, and placed it at the foot of the plantain clump and gone away, he went to sleep.
Afterwards the Vedarāla called the house person. “Now then, bring betel for me to say sooth.” The man having brought betel gave it to the Vedarāla.
Then the Vedarāla, having taken the betel and looked at it, said, “It is a packet of warāgan that has been lost, isn’t it.”
That man said, “It is that indeed. Should you seek and give what has been lost of mine, I will give you a half share.”
Then the Vedarāla having told him to get a light, becoming “possessed,” went and took and gave him the packet of warāgan that was at the foot of the plantain clump.
Having taken from it a half share, at the time when the party were going on, thieves having broken into the box at the foot of the King’s bed,[6] he made public by beat of tom-toms that many offices would be given by the King to a person who should seek and give it to him.
At that time this party said, “In our party indeed, there is a sooth-sayer. On the night of the day before yesterday he sought out and gave a yoke of cattle. Yesternight he sought out and gave a packet of warāgan.” Thereupon the persons took this Vedarāla near the King. Then the King asks, “Can he catch and give the thief who broke into the box at the foot of my bed?” The party said that he could.
Then the sooth-sayer, having become afraid, thought, “I will tie a cord to my neck and die.” So he said, “After tying white cloths in a house (as a decoration, on the walls and under the roof), and a piece of cord to the cross-beam, and placing a bed, chairs, and table in it, and setting on end a rice mortar, you must give me it in the evening.” The King having prepared them in that very way, gave him them.
Afterwards, the Vedarāla, after it became night, having gone inside the house, told them to shut the door from the outside, and lock it. Then having mounted on the rice mortar, when he tried to put the cord round his neck it was too short. On account of it he said, “Both the cord is too short and the height is insufficient. What shall I do?”[7]
As the Vedarāla was saying this word Kumandāēyi, a citizen, Kumandā, an old thief, was there [listening outside]. Having heard this, he thought, “He is calling out my name”; so becoming afraid he came near and spoke to the Vedarāla, and said, “It is I indeed whom you call Kumandā. It is I indeed who committed the theft. Don’t say anything about it to the King.”
Then the Vedarāla said, “If so, bring the things and put them in this house.”
Thereupon the old thief, having brought to the house all the things taken out of the box which was at the foot of the King’s bed, gave them to the sooth-sayer through the window.
Then the Vedarāla slept until light having come it became daylight.
Afterwards, the King having sent messengers in the morning, they awoke the Vedarāla. Then the Vedarāla, thinking it unseasonable, said, “Who is talking to me without allowing me to sleep?” and silently went to sleep again. So the messengers returned and told the King.
Afterwards the King came and spoke to him, and opened the door. The Vedarāla having come out, said, “O Lord, Your Majesty, I was unable to seize the thieves; the things indeed I met with.”
Then the King said, “The thief does not matter; after you have met with the things it is enough.”
Then the King, catching a great many fire-flies and putting them in a coconut shell, asked the Vedarāla, “What is there in this?”
The sooth-sayer, becoming afraid, went as far as he could see him, and thinking, “I will strike my head against a tree and die,” came running and struck his head against a tree.[8] Then the sooth-sayer said, “O Father! It was as though a hundred fire-flies flew about.”
The King said, “That is true. They are indeed fire-flies that are in my hand.”
After that, the King caught a bird, and clenching it in his fist, asked the sooth-sayer, “What is there in this fist?”
The sooth-sayer, having become afraid, began to beat his head on a stone. Then he said, “Kurulu-gama Appu’s strength went (this time).”[9]
The King said, “Bola, it is indeed a bird that is in my hand”; and having called the Vedarāla, and given him many offices, and a house, told him to stay at that very city.
Afterwards the Vedarāla, thinking, “They will call me again to tell sooth,” having put away the things that were in the house, and having set fire to the house, said, “Kurulu-gama Appu’s sooth-saying is finished from to-day. The sooth books have been burnt.” Having made it public he stayed at that very city.
North-western Province.
The second discovery of the sooth-sayer is extracted from a variant by a washerman, the rest of the story having been written by a man of the cultivating caste.
In the Kathā Sarit Sāgara (Tawney), vol. i, p. 272, there is an account of a pretended sooth-sayer, a poverty-stricken Brāhmaṇa. He first hid a horse, and when application was made to him to discover it, he drew diagrams and described the place where it would be found. After that, when a thief stole gold and jewels from the King’s palace he was sent for and shut up in a room, where he began to blame his tongue, jivha, which had made a vain pretence at knowledge. The principal thief, a maid called Jivhā, overheard him, and told him where she had buried her share of the plunder. Afterwards the King tested him by placing a frog in a covered pitcher. He expected that he would be killed, and said, “This is a fine pitcher for you, Frog (his father’s pet name for himself), since suddenly it has become the swift destroyer of yourself in this place.” He was thought a great sage, and the King presented him with “villages with gold, umbrella, and vehicles of all kinds.”
There is another story of a pretended sooth-sayer in vol. ii, p. 140, of the same work, but it does not, like the last, resemble the Sinhalese tale.
[1] Equivalent to saying, “What things do you know?” Sāēstara, the noun used, means sooth, knowledge of things, and science. [↑]
[2] The title “Vedarāla” is applied both to native medical practitioners and to demon expellers, who are also sooth-sayers. [↑]
[3] Twenty rupees, in a variant. [↑]
[4] Sihi buddi naetuwaṭa mona sāēstara kiyamanada? This might also be interpreted, “On account of the absence of Sihibuddi what saying of sooth is there?” The long final ī of female names is usually shortened in conversation. [↑]
[5] A South Indian gold coin, with the figure of a boar, Varāha, on the obverse, said by Winslow to be worth three and a half rupees. [↑]
[6] “A box in which the most valuable ornaments of the most frequent use are kept, and which for the sake of safety is always placed at the foot of the bed” (The Orientalist, vol. i, p. 59, footnote). [↑]
[7] Kumandāēyi mama karannē, which if not very clearly heard might be translated, “It is Kumandā; I am doing it,” or “I will do it.” [↑]
[8] He might do any unusual acts of this sort without exciting much astonishment, while apparently under the influence of “possession.” [↑]
[9] Kurulu gama Appugē rissa giyā. This might be translated, “On the birds’ moving, Appu’s strength went.” [↑]
No. 24
How a Prince was chased by a Yaksanī, and what befel
A prince went for hunting-sport. As he was going, a Yaksanī (female Yakā) who was living in the midst of the forest, chased him, saying that she was going to eat the Prince, and drove the Prince down the path. The Prince having gone running, went bounding through the middle of a city. The Yaksanī followed him in the disguise of a woman.
The King of the city having seen them, sent the Ministers, and told them to look what it was about. The Ministers asked the Yaksanī who was bounding behind him, “What is that for?”
The Yaksanī said, “My husband having quarrelled with me and left me, is running away. I am running after him because of it.”
The Ministers then brought her before the King, and having seen the beauty of the Yaksanī, the King was pleased with her, and said, “If you should not go with him it does not matter; stay here.” So the King, having prepared another house for the Yaksanī, and having married her, establishing her in the office of Chief Queen, she remained there.
While she was there, this Yaksanī having gone like a thief during the time when all were sleeping, and killed and eaten the men of the city, brought a few of the bones, and placed them in a heap at the back of the houses in which the twelve Queens of the King slept.
When a little time had gone by in this manner, the men of the city came to the King, and saying, “Since you have brought and are keeping this Yaksanī this city is altogether desolate,” made obeisance. Then the King made inquiry into the matter.
Then that Yaksanī said, “Anē! O Lord, Your Majesty, I indeed do not know about that, but I did indeed see that thief who eats human flesh, although I did not tell you.”
The King asked, “Who is it?”
The Yaksanī said, “If Your Majesty should look behind the houses of the twelve Queens you can ascertain.”
When the King went there and looked, he found that it was true, and gave orders for the twelve Queens to be killed. Then the Yaksanī told him not to kill them, but to pluck out their eyes, and send them into the midst of the forest. Having heard the words which the Yaksanī said, he acted in that very manner.
So all this party of Queens went and stayed in one spot, and there all the twelve bore children. As each one was born, they divided and ate it. The youngest Queen put aside all the flesh that was given to her, and while she was keeping it she, also, bore a son. Then those eleven Queens made ready to eat that Prince, so that Princess gave them the flesh which she had kept, and the party ate it.
As time went on that Prince having grown a little, began to bring and give them fruits that were lying on the ground. Then the Prince met with a bow and an arrow that had been concealed there. After that he began to shoot various kinds of small animals, and to bring and give them to the Queens. Afterwards he shot large animals, and having brought fire and boiled them, he gave the flesh to them. By this time the Prince understood all things thoroughly.
After that, one day this Prince asked, “Mother, what is the reason why your eyes have become blind, and my eyes are well?”
The party said, “We were the Queens of such and such a King; having taken a Yaksanī in marriage, this was done to us through her enmity.” Then the Prince remained thinking of killing the King.
One day, as he was going hunting, he met with a Vaeddā. Thinking he would kill the Vaeddā, the Prince chased him along the path. The Vaeddā, being afraid, went running away, and having met with the King said, “O Lord, Your Majesty, there is a very handsome Prince in the midst of this forest. One cannot say if the Prince is the son of a deity or a royal Prince. He does not come near enough to speak. When he sees a man he drives him away, saying he is going to eat him.” He spoke very strongly about it.
So the Ministers were sent by the King, who told them to seize and bring him. As the party were going to seize him, he sprang forward, saying that he was going to eat them. At that, the party became afraid, and ran away. Having come running, they told the King, “O Lord, Your Majesty, we cannot seize him. He comes springing at us saying he is going to eat us.”
Then the King came, bringing his war army. Thereupon the Prince, who before that was angry with the King in his mind, threw a stone in order to kill the King, and struck him. Being struck by the stone, the King’s head was wounded (lit. split), so the King and all of them became afraid, and ran away.
The King, having returned, wrote letters to foreign countries: “There is a wicked Prince in the midst of the forest in my kingdom. Who he is I cannot find out. Because of it you must come to seize the Prince.”
The Prince having got to know of it, and thinking, “It is not good for me to be killed at the hands of these men; having met with the King I will kill him,” went to the royal palace. When he arrived there the King saw him, and asked, “Who are you?”
The Prince said, “I am a royal Prince; I stay in the midst of this forest.”
The King said, “Would it be a bad thing if you remained at this palace?”
The Prince asked, “What work would there be for me?”
The King said, “Remain and do the work of the First Minister of the Ministers.”
The Prince asked, “How much pay would there be for me for the day?”
The King replied, “I will give fifty masuran.”
“Fifty masuran are insufficient for me. Will you give me every day in the evening a hundred masuran?” he asked.
The King said, “It is good,” and after that he stayed there. While remaining there he came twice a day and assisted his twelve mothers.
When no long time had gone by, some one was heard crying out in the night near the city. The King told him to look who was crying. The Prince having gone, taking his sword, when he looked, a dead body was hanging in a tree, and a Yaksanī was springing up to eat the dead body. Being unable to seize it she was crying out.
The Prince went and asked, “What is that for?”
The Yaksanī replied, “My son having gone into the tree cannot descend; because of it I am crying out.”
The Prince said, “Mount on my shoulders and unfasten him.”
The Yaksanī having got on his shoulders, as she was about to eat the Prince he chopped at her with his sword. A foot was cut off, and she fled. Taking the foot and returning with it, the Prince showed it to the King. The King having seen the Prince’s resoluteness, in order to cause him to be killed said that unless he should bring the other foot he could not take charge of this one.
After that, the Prince went to the palace where the Yakās dwelt. There this Yaksanī whom he had wounded came, and having made obeisance, fell down and said, “Lord, do not kill me. I will do anything you tell me.” Summoning her to accompany him and returning, he showed her to the King.
Afterwards he employed this Yaksanī, and caused her to make a city at the place where his mothers were, and having made her construct a palace, he told the Yaksanī and his mothers to dwell there.
While they were there the Yaksanī said to the Prince, “I know the place where the King’s life is. Whatever you should do to the King himself you cannot kill him.”
The Prince asked, “Where is it?”
“It is in a golden parrot in such and such a tree,” she said.
After that he went there and caught the parrot and killed it. Then the King died.
After he died, the Prince having set fire to the palace there, and cut down the Yaksanī who stayed with the King, left his mothers in charge of the city formed by the maimed Yaksanī, and remained ruling the kingdom.
Western Province.
For some variants, see the notes at the end of the story numbered 48.
In Indian Nights’ Entertainment, Panjāb (Swynnerton), p. 355, a Princess in man’s disguise, acting as the King’s guard, found a ghūl in the form of a woman howling under a corpse that was hanging from a gallows. She stated that it was her son whom she could not reach, and she asked to be lifted up. When raised up to it by the Princess she began to suck the blood, on seeing which the Princess made a cut at her, but only severed a piece of her clothing, which proved to be of so rich a quality that the King ordered her to procure more for his wife.
In the Jātaka story No. 96 (vol. i, p. 235) an Ogress in the disguise of a woman followed a man into Takkasilā, intending to devour him. The King saw her, was struck by her beauty, and married her. When he had given her authority over those who dwelt in the palace, she brought other Ogres at night, and ate the King and every one in the place.
No. 25
The Wicked King
In a certain country there are a King and a Queen, it is said. The Queen has no children. During the time while she was rearing another (adopted) Prince, a child was born to the Queen.
After it was born, the King and Queen having spoken together, “Let us kill the Prince whom we have brought up,” said to the King’s Minister, “Take this Prince and put him down in a clump of bamboos.” The Minister having taken the Prince, and put him down in a clump of bamboos, returned. The Prince was seven years old.
After that, a man having gone to the bamboo clump to cut bamboos, and having seen, when he looked, that this Prince was there, without stopping to cut bamboos took away this Prince.
On the following day the King said to the Minister, “Look if the Prince is in the bamboo bush, and come back.” Afterwards he went, and when he looked, the Prince was not there. So he came to the King, and said, “The Prince is not there.”
Then the King said, “The man who went away after cutting bamboos will have taken him. Give these thousand masuran, and bring him.” Having said this, he gave him a thousand masuran. The Minister, having taken the thousand masuran, and given them to the man who took away the Prince, brought him and gave him to the King.
Afterwards the King said to the Minister, “Take this one and put him down in the middle of the path to a cattle fold in which five hundred cattle are collected, and return, so that, having been trampled on as the cattle are going along the path, he may die.” So the Minister having taken that Prince, and put him down in the middle of the path to a cattle fold in which five hundred cattle were collected, came away.
After that, as the five hundred cattle were setting off to go into the cattle fold, when the great chief bull which went first was about to go in, having seen this Prince he placed him under his body, and allowing the other cattle to go in, this bull went afterwards. Subsequently, as the herdsman who drove the cattle was going along he saw this Prince, and taking the Prince the herdsman went away.
On the following day the King said to the Minister, “Look if the Prince is at the cattle fold, and come back.” The Minister went, and when he looked the Prince was not there. So the Minister came and said to the King, “He is not there.”
Then the King having given a thousand masuran into the Minister’s hand said, “The herdsman who drove the cattle will have taken him. Give these thousand masuran and bring him.” So the Minister having taken the thousand masuran, and given them to the herdsman, brought the Prince and gave him to the King.
After that, the King said, “Take this one and put him down in the road on which five hundred carts are coming.” So the Minister having taken the Prince, and put him down in the road on which five hundred carts were coming, returned.
Then the carters, having seen from afar that the Prince was there, took the Prince, and placed him in a cart, and went home with him.
On the following day the King said to the Minister, “Go and look if the Prince is in the road on which the five hundred carts come, and return.” The Minister went, and when he looked the Prince was not there. So the Minister came and told the King, “The Prince is not there.”
Then the King gave the Minister a thousand masuran, and said, “The carters will have taken him. Give these thousand masuran and bring him.” The Minister having given the thousand masuran to the carters, brought the Prince and gave him to the King.
After that, the King said to the Minister, “Speak to the potter and come back. There is no other means of killing this one but surrounding him with pottery in the pottery kiln, and burning him.” So the Minister went and spoke to the potter, “Our King tried thus and thus to kill this Prince; he could not. Because of that, how if you should surround him even in the pottery kiln?”
The potter said, “Should you bring him I will surround him.”
So the Minister came and said to the King, “The potter told me to take the Prince.”
After that, the King wrote a letter: “Immediately on seeing the Prince who brings this letter, surround him in the pottery kiln, and kill him.” Having written that in the letter, and given the letter to the Prince who had been adopted, he said, “Take this letter to such and such a potter, and having given it come back.”
Afterwards, as the Prince was going along taking the letter, the King’s Prince having played at “Disks,”[1] and the counters having been driven out, was dragging along the hop counters. Then, having seen this Prince, the King’s Prince asked, “Where, elder brother, are you going?”
The Prince said, “Father gave me this letter, and told me to give it to such and such a potter. Having given it I am going to return.”
The King’s Prince said, “If so, elder brother, I will give that letter and come back. You drag these hop counters.”
Then this Prince having said “Hā,” and given the letter into the hands of the King’s Prince, dragged the hop counters.
While the King’s Prince was taking the letter, the potter was making ready the pottery kiln. After the Prince had given the letter to the potter, when the potter looked at it there was in the letter, “After you have seen this letter, surround in the pottery kiln the Prince who brings this letter, and set fire to it.” So the potter taking the Prince surrounded him in the pottery kiln, and set fire to it. While it was burning in the pottery kiln the King’s Prince died.
After the adopted Prince finished dragging the hop counters, and came to the palace, the King asked, “Did you give the letter to the potter?”
The Prince said, “As I was going there, younger brother having played at ‘Disks,’ and the counters being driven out, was dragging the hop counters. Having seen me going, younger brother asked, ‘Where, elder brother, are you going?’ I said, ‘Father gave me this letter to give to such and such a potter; having given it I am going to return.’ Then younger brother said, ‘Elder brother, I will give that letter and come; you draw these hop counters.’ So I gave the letter into the hand of younger brother, and I myself having drawn the hop counters came back.”
Then the King quickly said to the Ministers, “Go to the potter, and look if the Prince is there, and return.”
The Ministers went and asked the potter, “Is the Prince here?”
The potter said, “I killed the Prince.”
So the Ministers came and told the King that the Prince was dead.
The King immediately wrote a letter to the King of another city, that when he saw the Prince who brought the letter he was to kill him; and having given the letter into the hand of this adopted Prince, he said, “Give this letter to the King of such and such a city, and come back.”
The Prince having taken the letter went to the palace of the King of the city. At that time the King was not in the palace; the King’s Princess was there. This Prince having grown up was beautiful to look at; the Princess thought of marrying him. Asking for the letter in the hand of the Prince, when she looked at it there was written that on seeing the Prince they were to kill him.
Then the Princess having torn up and thrown away the letter, wrote a letter that on seeing the Prince they were to marry him to the Princess. Having written it and given it into the hand of the Prince, she said, “After our father the King has come give him this letter.”
After that, while the Prince, having taken the letter, was there, the King came. The Prince gave him the letter. When the King looked at the letter he learnt that on seeing the Prince he was to marry the King’s Princess to him. So the King married the King’s Princess to the Prince.
Having married her, while the Prince was there, illness seized the King who brought up the Prince, and they sent letters for this Prince to come. The Prince would not. Afterwards they sent a letter: “Even now the King cannot be trusted [to live]; he is going to die even to-day. You must come.” To that also the Prince replied, “I will not.”
The Princess said, “Having said ‘I will not,’ how will it be? Let us two go to-day.” So the Prince and Princess came. When they arrived, the King was about to die, and breathing with difficulty. The Prince came and sat near the King’s feet; the Princess sat near the King’s head. The King told the Prince to come near in order to give him an oath [to repeat], in such a manner that he would be unable to seize any article of the King’s.
Well then, as the King was coming to mention the King’s treasure houses and all other things, while he was opening his mouth to say the truth-oath to the Prince, the Princess, the King’s daughter-in-law, being aware of it, stroked the King’s neck, saying, “If so, father, for whom are they if not for us?” Then that which the King was about to say he had no opportunity of saying; while she was holding his neck he died.
After that, the Prince having obtained the sovereignty, and the treasure houses, and the other different houses that were there, the Prince and Princess stayed at that very palace.
Anun nahanḍa yanakoṭa tamumma nahinawā.
While they are going to kill others they die themselves.
[1] Sillu, “Hopscotch,” a game omitted from my account of village games in Ancient Ceylon. I have seen boys playing a form of Hopscotch which may be this one. I do not understand the reference to “dragging” the counters home after it, unless the meaning is “carrying.” The Sinhalese verb used is adinawā, which is sometimes employed with this other meaning. [↑]
No. 26
The Kitul Seeds
A certain man and his son, who was a grown-up youth, were walking along a path one day, when they came to a place where many seeds had fallen from a Kitul Palm tree.
The man drew his son’s attention to them, and said, “We must gather these Kitul seeds, and plant them. When the plants from them grow up we shall have a large number of Kitul trees, from which we will take the toddy (juice), and make jaggery (a kind of brown sugar). By selling this we shall make money, which we will save till we shall have enough to buy a nice pony.”
“Yes,” said the boy, “and I will jump on his back like this, and ride him,” and as he said it he gave a bound.
“What!” said the father, “would you break my pony’s back like that!” and so saying, he gave him a blow on the side of the head which knocked him down senseless.
E. G. Goonewardene, Esqre.
North-western Province.
There is another story of this type in the tale No. 53, below.
In the Jātaka story No. 4 (vol. i, p. 19), there is a tale of a young man who acquired a fortune and became Lord Treasurer by means of a dead mouse which he picked up and sold for a farthing, subsequently increasing his money by careful investments.
In the Kathā Sarit Sāgara, vol. i, p. 33, a nearly identical mouse story is given.
In Indian Fairy Tales (Stokes), p. 31, there is a different one. A man who was to receive four pice for carrying a jar of ghī, settled that he would buy a hen with the money, sell her eggs, get a goat, and then a cow, the milk of which he would sell. Afterwards he would marry a wife, and when they had children he would refuse some cooked rice which they would offer him. At this point he shook his head as he refused it, and the jar fell and was broken.
In Indian Nights’ Entertainment (Swynnerton), p. 23, a man who was carrying a jar of butter on his head, and who expected to get three halfpence for the job, was going to buy a hen, then a sheep, a cow, a milch buffalo, and a mare, and then to get married. As he patted his future children on the head the pot fell and was broken.
In The Arabian Nights (Lady Burton’s ed., i, p. 296) there is a well-known variant in which the fortune was to be made out of a tray of glass-ware.
No. 27
The Speaking Horse
There was once a certain King who was greatly wanting in common sense, and in his kingdom there was a Paṇḍitayā who was extremely wise. The King had a very beautiful white horse of which he was very proud. The Paṇḍitayā was respected and revered by all, but for the King little or no respect was felt, on account of his foolish conduct. He observed this, and became jealous of the Paṇḍitayā’s popularity, so he determined to destroy him.
One day he sent for him. The Paṇḍitayā came and prostrated himself before the King, who said, “I hear that you are extremely learned and wise. I require you to teach my white horse to speak. I will allow you one week to consider the matter, at the end of which time you must give me a reply, and if you cannot do it your head will be cut off.”
The Paṇḍitayā replied, “It is good, O Great King,”[1] and went home in very low spirits.
He lived with a beautiful daughter, a grown-up girl. When he returned she observed that he was melancholy, and asked the reason, on which the Paṇḍitayā informed her of the King’s command, and said that it was impossible to teach a horse to speak, and that he must place his affairs in order, in preparation for his death.
“Do as I tell you,” she said, “and your life will be saved. When you go to the King on the appointed day, and he asks you if you are able to teach his horse to speak, you must answer, ‘I can do it, but it is a work that will occupy a long time. I shall require seven years’ time for it. You must also allow me to keep the horse by me and ride it, while you will provide food for it.’ The King will agree to this, and in the meantime who knows what may happen?”
The Paṇḍitayā accepted this wise advice. He appeared before the King at the end of the week, and prostrated himself. The King asked him, “Are you able to teach my white horse to speak?”
“Maharājani,” he replied, “I am able.” He then explained that it would be a very difficult work, and would occupy a long time; and that he would require seven years for it, and must have the horse by him all the time, and use it, while the King would provide food for it.
The King was delighted at the idea of getting his horse taught to speak, and at once agreed to these conditions. So the Paṇḍitayā took away the horse, and kept it at the King’s expense.
Before the seven years had elapsed the King had died, and the horse remained with the Paṇḍitayā.
E. G. Goonewardene, Esqre.
No. 28
The Female Quail
A female Quail having laid an egg on a rock, went to eat food. Then the [overhanging] rock closed over it, and when the bird returned there was no egg. “Andō! There is no egg,” she said.
Well then, she went to the Mason. The Mason said, “Sit down, O Bird.”
“What is [the use of] sitting and staying? What is [the use of] betel leaf and areka nut at the corner of the bed? Cut the rock, and give me the egg, O Mason,” she said.
The Mason said, “I will not.”
From there she went to the Village Headman.[1] The Village Headman said, “Sit down, O Bird.”
“What is the use of sitting and staying? What is the use of betel leaf and areka nut at the corner of the bed? O Village Headman, tie up the house-door[2] of the Mason, the Mason who did not cut the rock, and give me the egg,” she said.
The Village Headman said, “I will not.”
From there she went to the Pig. The Pig said, “Sit down, O Bird.”
“What is the use of sitting and staying? What is the use of betel leaf and areka nut at the corner of the bed? O Pig, feed in the rice field of the Village Headman, the Village Headman who did not tie up the house-door of the Mason, the Mason who did not cut the rock, and give me the egg,” she said.
The Pig said, “I will not.”
From there she went to the Vaeddā. The Vaeddā said, “Sit down, O Bird.”
“What is the use of sitting and staying? What is the use of betel leaf and areka nut at the corner of the bed? O Vaeddā, shoot (with bow and arrow) the Pig, the Pig who did not feed in the rice field of the Village Headman, the Village Headman who did not tie up the house-door of the Mason, the Mason who did not cut the rock, and give me the egg,” she said.
The Vaeddā said, “I will not.”
From there she went to the Timbol creeper.[3] The Timbola said, “Sit down, O Bird.”
“What is the use of sitting and staying? What is the use of betel leaf and areka nut at the corner of the bed? O Timbola, prick the body of the Vaeddā, the Vaeddā who did not shoot the Pig, the Pig who did not feed in the rice field of the Village Headman, the Village Headman who did not tie up the house-door of the Mason, the Mason who did not cut the rock, and give me the egg,” she said.
The Timbola said, “I will not.”
From there she went to the Fire. The Fire said, “Sit down, O Bird.”
“What is the use of sitting and staying? What is the use of betel leaf and areka nut at the corner of the bed? O Fire, burn the Timbola, the Timbola that did not prick the body of the Vaeddā, the Vaeddā who did not shoot the Pig, the Pig who did not feed in the rice field of the Village Headman, the Village Headman who did not tie up the house-door of the Mason, the Mason who did not cut the rock, and give me the egg,” she said.
The Fire said, “I will not.”
From there she went to the Water-pot. The Water-pot said, “Sit down, O Bird.”
“What is the use of sitting and staying? What is the use of betel leaf and areka nut at the corner of the bed? O Water-pot, quench the Fire, the Fire that did not burn the Timbola, the Timbola that did not prick the body of the Vaeddā, the Vaeddā who did not shoot the Pig, the Pig who did not feed in the rice field of the Village Headman, the Village Headman who did not tie up the house-door of the Mason, the Mason who did not cut the rock, and give me the egg,” she said.
The Water-pot said, “I will not.”
From there she went to the Elephant. The Elephant said, “Sit down, O Bird.”
“What is the use of sitting and staying? What is the use of betel leaf and areka nut at the corner of the bed? O Elephant, make muddy the Water-pot, the Water-pot that did not quench the Fire, the Fire that did not burn the Timbola, the Timbola that did not prick the body of the Vaeddā, the Vaeddā who did not shoot the Pig, the Pig who did not feed in the rice field of the Village Headman, the Village Headman who did not tie up the house-door of the Mason, the Mason who did not cut the rock, and give me the egg,” she said.
The Elephant said, “I will not.”
From there she went to the Rat. The Rat said, “Sit down, O Bird.”
“What is the use of sitting and staying? What is the use of betel leaf and areka nut at the corner of the bed? O Rat, creep into the ear of the Elephant, the Elephant who did not make muddy the Water-pot, the Water-pot that did not quench the Fire, the Fire that did not burn the Timbola, the Timbola that did not prick the body of the Vaeddā, the Vaeddā who did not shoot the Pig, the Pig who did not feed in the rice field of the Village Headman, the Village Headman who did not tie up the house-door of the Mason, the Mason who did not cut the rock, and give me the egg,” she said.
The Rat said, “I will not.”
From there she went to the Cat. The Cat said, “Sit down, O Bird.”
“What is the use of sitting and staying? What is the use of betel leaf and areka nut at the corner of the bed? O Cat, eat the Rat, the Rat who did not creep into the ear of the Elephant, the Elephant who did not make muddy the Water-pot, the Water-pot that did not quench the Fire, the Fire that did not burn the Timbola, the Timbola that did not prick the body of the Vaeddā, the Vaeddā who did not shoot the Pig, the Pig who did not feed in the rice field of the Village Headman, the Village Headman who did not tie up the house-door of the Mason, the Mason who did not cut the rock, and give me the egg,” she said.
The Cat said “Hā” (Yes).
Well then, the Cat went to catch the Rat, the Rat went to creep into the ear of the Elephant, the Elephant went to make muddy the Water-pot, the Water-pot went to quench the Fire, the Fire went to burn the Timbola, the Timbola went to prick the body of the Vaeddā, the Vaeddā went to shoot the Pig, the Pig went to feed in the rice field of the Village Headman, the Village Headman went to tie up the house-door of the Mason, the Mason went to cut the rock, and take and give the egg.
Here the story ends. “Was the egg given?” I asked. “It would be given,” the narrator said. “No, he gave it,” said a listener.
North-western Province.
In a variant which I heard in the Southern Province, a bird laid two eggs in a crevice between two stones, which drew close together. She went to a Mason or Stone-cutter; (2) to a Pig; (3) to a Hunter; (4) to an Elephant, which she requested to kill him; (5) to a Lizard (Calotes), which she told to crawl up the Elephant’s trunk into its brain; (6) to a Jungle Hen, which she told to peck and kill the Lizard; (7) to a Jackal, who, when requested to kill the Jungle Hen, at once agreed, and said, “It is very good,” and set off after her.
In Wide-Awake Stories (Steel and Temple), p. 209—Tales of the Punjab, p. 195—there is a variant. While a farmer’s wife was winnowing corn, a crow carried off a grain, and perched on a tree to eat it. She threw a clod at it, and knocked it down, but the grain of corn rolled into a crack in the tree, and the crow, though threatened with death in case of failure, was unable to recover it.
It went for assistance, and requested (1) a Woodman to cut the tree; (2) a King to kill the man; (3) a Queen to coax the King; (4) a Snake to bite the Queen; (5) a Stick to beat the Snake; (6) Fire to burn the Stick; (7) Water to quench the Fire; (8) an Ox to drink the water; (9) a Rope to bind the Ox; (10) a Mouse to gnaw the Rope; (11) a Cat to catch the Mouse. “The moment the Cat heard the name Mouse, she was after it, for the world would come to an end before a Cat would leave a Mouse alone.” In the end the Crow got the grain of corn, and saved its life.
In Indian Folk Tales (Gordon), p. 53, there is an allied variant. A bird had bought three grains of corn for three cowries, and while she was on a new cart eating them one fell into a joint of the cart where she was unable to get it.
She appealed to (1) the Carpenter to take the cart to pieces, so that she might obtain it; (2) the King to make him do it; (3) the Queen to persuade the King; (4) a Deer to graze in the Queen’s garden; (5) the Stick to beat the Deer; (6) the Fire to burn the Stick; (7) the Lake to quench the Fire; (8) the Rats to fill up the Lake; (9) the Cat to attack the Rats; (10) the Elephant to crush the Cat; (11) an Ant to crawl into the Elephant’s ear; (12) the Crow, “the most greedy of all creatures,” to eat the Ant. The Crow consented, and the usual result followed.
[2] Ge-dora, which probably means only “house-door” in this case, and not buildings, etc., in general. [↑]
[3] A creeper with long sharp thorns, punctures by which usually cause ulcers. [↑]
No. 29
The Pied Robin
At a certain city, while a female Pied Robin[1] was digging and digging on a dung-hill, she met with a piece of scraped coconut refuse, it is said. She took it, and put it away, and having gone again, while she was digging and digging there was a lump of rice dust. Having taken it, and put it to soak, she said, “Sister-in-law at that house, Sister-in-law at this house, come and pound a little flour.”[2]
The women, saying, “No, no, with such a fragment you can pound that little bit yourself,” did not come.
The Pied Robin pounded the flour, and cooking a cake of the size of a rice mat (waṭṭiya), and tying a hair-knot of the size of a box, and putting on a cloth of the breadth of a thumb, while she was going away she met with a Jackal.
The Jackal asked, “Where are you going?”
“Having looked for a [suitable] marriage, I am going to get married,” she said.
The Jackal said, “Would it be bad if you went with me?”[3]
The bird asked, “What do you eat?”
The Jackal said, “I eat a land crab, and drink a little water.”
Then the bird said, “Chi! Bullock, Chi!” and while going on again she met with a blind man.
The blind man asked, “Where are you going?”
“Having looked for a [suitable] marriage, I am going to get married,” she said.
The blind man said, “Would it be bad if you went with me?”
The bird asked, “What do you eat?”
The blind man said, “Having chewed an eel, I drink a little water.”
Then the bird said, “Chi! Bullock, Chi!” and while going on again she met with a Hunchback, chopping and chopping at a bank (nīra) in a rice field.
The Hunchback said, “Where are you going?”
“Having looked for a [suitable] marriage, I am going to get married,” she said.
The Hunchback said, “Would it be bad if you went with me?”
The bird asked, “What do you eat?”
The Hunchback said, “I eat rice cakes.”
Then the bird having said, “Hā. It is good,” the Hunchback said, “I put rice on the hearth to boil, and came away. You go and look after it.”
After the bird had gone to the Hunchback’s house, she found that the water was insufficient for cooking the rice, and except that it was making a sound, “Kuja tapa tapa, kuja tapa tapa,” it was not cooking.
So the bird went to the Hunchback, and said, “The water is insufficient for cooking the rice. It only says ‘Kuja tapa tapa, kuja tapa tapa.’[4] Bring water, O Hunchback.”
The Hunchback became angry [at the nicknames], and having come home, when he was taking a water-pot to the well, a frog sitting on the well mouth jumped into the well, making a sound, “Kujija būs.”[5]
Then the Hunchback, having drawn and drawn up the water from the well, caught and killed the frog, and tried to fill the water-pot with water. The water continuing, as he poured it, to make a sound “Kuja kuṭu kuṭu, kuja kuṭu kuṭu,”[6] except that it splashed up does not fill the water-pot.
Through anger at it, he took the water-pot and struck it against the mouth of the well, and smashed it.
While he was coming home he met a Village Headman. The Village Headman asked, “Where, Mr. Hunchback, did you go?”
The Hunchback said, “What is the journey on which I am going to thee, Bola, O Heretic?” and having come home, killed the Pied Robin, and ate the cakes that the bird brought.
North-western Province.
In Indian Folk Tales (Gordon), p. 59, a large grain measure (pailā) having quarrelled with his wife, the small grain measure (pailī), and beaten her, she ran off, and on her way met with a Crow, which invited her to stay with him. She inquired, “What will you give me to eat and drink, what to wear and what to spend?” The reply being unsatisfactory, she went on, and met a Bagulā (crane or heron), which also invited her to stay, and when asked the same question gave an unsatisfactory answer. She next met a King, who said, “I will place one cushion below you and one above, and whatsoever you desire you may have to eat.” She refused this, and met a dog, who told her that in the King’s store there was much raw sugar, of which they would eat as much as they pleased. She accepted this offer, and they lived in the store; but one day the King’s daughter threw in the scales, which wounded the dog on the head, so the measure jumped out.
[2] An imitation of the song of the bird, apparently. [↑]
[3] Māt ekka giyāma nākēyi? [↑]
[4] “Stooping man, there is heat, heat.” [↑]
[5] Kujija is a man who stoops. He may have thought it said, “Stooping man, you are refuse.” [↑]
[6] Kuṭi is a bend. He appears to have interpreted it as, “Stooping man, you are bent, bent.”
All these expressions are imitations of some of the notes of the bird’s song. [↑]
No. 30
The Jackal and the Hare
In a certain country there are a Jackal and a Hare living together, it is said.
One day when the Jackal was rubbing himself in the morning in the open space at the front of the house, there was a pumpkin seed in his hair. He took it and planted it. Afterwards, when the Hare went to the open ground, and was rubbing himself, he also had a pumpkin seed in his hair. He, too, took it and planted it. That which the Jackal planted, being without water, died. The Hare having brought water in his ears, and watered his seed, it sprouted, grew large, and bore a fruit.
After the fruit had become large, the Jackal and Hare spoke together, “Friend, with that pumpkin fruit let us eat pumpkin milk-rice.” They also said, “Whence the rice, coconut, and the like, for it?”
Then the Hare said, “We two will go to the path to the shops. You stay in the bushes. I will be lying down in the grass field (piṭiya) at the side of the path. Men going along the road, having placed on the path the articles which they are carrying to the shops, will come to take me. Then you take the goods, and go off to the bushes.”
When the Jackal and Hare had gone to the path that led to the shops, and seen a man coming, bringing a bag of rice, the Hare lay down in the grass field as though dead. The Jackal hid himself and waited.
That man having come up, and seen that the Hare was dead, said, “Appā! Bola, there is meat for me.” So he placed the bag of rice on the road, and went to get the Hare. Then the Jackal came running, and carried off the bag of rice into the bushes. When the man was approaching the Hare, it got up and ran away. So the man had neither the bag of rice nor the Hare. He went home empty-handed (nikam).
Again when the Jackal and Hare were looking out, they saw a man come, bringing a pingo (carrying-stick) load of coconuts, and the Hare went and lay down again in the grass field. The Jackal hid himself and looked out.
Afterwards that man came up, and as he was going on from there he saw that the Hare was lying dead, and saying, “Appā! Bola, there is a Hare,” placed the pingo load of coconuts on the path, and went to get the Hare. The Jackal, taking the pingo load of coconuts, went into the bushes. As that man approached the Hare it got up and ran away. So the man had neither the pingo load of coconuts nor the Hare. He went home empty-handed.
As the Jackal and Hare were looking out again, they saw that a man was bringing a bill-hook and a betel-cutter, which he had got made at the forge. So the Hare went and lay down again in the field.
The man came up, and when going on from there, having seen that the Hare was dead, placed the bill-hook and betel-cutter on the path, and went to get the Hare. Then the Jackal carried the bill-hook and the betel-cutter into the bushes. As that man was coming near to take the Hare, it got up and ran away. So that man had neither the bill-hook, nor the betel-cutter, nor the Hare. He went home empty-handed.
As the Jackal and Hare were looking out again, they saw a potter coming, bringing a pingo load of pots, so the Hare went and lay down again in the grass field. The Jackal hid himself and waited.
When the potter was going on from there, he saw that the Hare was dead, and having placed the pingo load of pots on the path, he went to get it. Then the Jackal, taking the pingo load of pots, went off into the bushes. As the man was coming near the Hare it got up and ran away. So that man had neither the pingo load of pots nor the Hare. He went home empty-handed.
Then the Jackal and Hare took home the bag of rice, and the pingo load of coconuts, and the bill-hook, and the betel-cutter, and the pingo load of pots. After that, having plucked and cut up the pumpkin fruit, and washed the rice, and put it in the cooking pot, and placed it on the fire, and broken the coconut, and scraped out the inside, while squeezing it [in water in order to make coconut-milk], the Jackal said to the Hare, “Friend, I will pour this on the rice, and in the meantime before I take it off the fire, you go, and plucking leaves without a point bring them [to use] as plates.”
While the Hare was going for them, the Jackal ate all the rice, and placed only a little burnt rice in the bottom of the cooking pot. Then he lay down on the ash-heap.
Afterwards the Hare returned, and saying, “Friend, there is not a leaf without a point. I have walked and walked through the whole of this jungle in search of one,” gave into the paws of the Jackal two leaves with the ends bitten off. Then, without getting up, the Jackal said, “Andō! Friend, what is the use of a leaf without a point now? The rice people, the coconut people, the bill-hook and betel-cutter people, the pots people having eaten the rice, and beaten me also, rolled me over on this ash-heap. There will still be a little burnt rice in the bottom of the cooking pot. Scrape it off, and putting a little in your mouth, put a little in my mouth too.” So the Hare having scraped off the burnt rice, and eaten a little of it, put a little in the Jackal’s mouth.
Then the Jackal said, “Friend, a tick is biting my nose; rid me of it.” When the Hare was coming near to rid him of it, the Jackal vomited all over the Hare’s body. Then the Hare bounded off to the river, and jumped into it, and having become clean returned to the place where the Jackal was.
The Jackal asked, “How, Friend, did you become clean?”
The Hare said, “I went to a place where a washerman-uncle is washing clothes, and got him to wash me.”
The Jackal asked, “Where is he washing?”
The Hare said, “Look there! He is washing at the river.”
Afterwards the Jackal went to the river, and said to the washerman-uncle, “Anē! Washerman-uncle, wash me too, a little.”
When the washerman-uncle, having taken hold of the Jackal’s tail, had struck a couple of blows with him on the stone, the Jackal said, “That will do, that will do, washerman-uncle, I shall have become clean now.” But the washerman-uncle, saying, “Will you eat my fowls again afterwards? Will you eat them?” gave him another stroke. Then the washerman-uncle, having washed the clothes, went home.
From that time the Jackal and Hare became unfriendly, and the Jackal said that whenever he saw Hares he would eat them.
North-western Province.
According to a variant, the washerman struck the Jackal on the stone until he was dead.
No. 31
The Leopard and the Mouse-deer
In a jungle wilderness in the midst of the forest there is a rock cave. In the cave a Leopard dwells. One day when the Leopard had gone for food a lame female Mouse-deer (Mīminnī) crept into the cave, and gave birth to two young ones.
Afterwards the Mouse-deer having seen that the Leopard, having got wet at the time of a very great rainfall, was coming to the cave, began to beat the young ones, so the young ones began to squall. Then the Mouse-deer came out, saying, “There is fresh Leopard’s flesh, there is dried Leopard’s flesh; what else shall I give you? Having eaten these, still you are crying in order to eat fresh Leopard’s flesh!”
As the Mouse-deer was saying it, the Leopard heard it, and thought, “They are going to eat me,” and having become afraid, sprang off and ran away, thinking, “I will go to my Preceptor, and tell him.”
Having gone to him, the Jackal said, “What is it, Sir? You are running as though afraid. Why?” he asked.
The Leopard then replied, “Preceptor, the danger that has happened to me is thus: A Mouse-deer having crept into the cave that I live in, and having borne young ones there, as I was returning came shouting and springing to eat me. Through fear of it I came running away,” he said to the Jackal.
The Jackal then said, “What of that! Don’t be afraid. I will come with you and go there. As soon as I go I will bite her and cast her out.”
As they went near the cave, the Leopard having lagged a very little behind, said, “Friend, I cannot go, I cannot go.”
Then the Jackal said, “If you are afraid to that extent, be so good as to go after tying a creeper to my neck, and tying the other end to your waist, Sir,” he said to the Leopard.
So bringing a creeper, and tying one end to the Jackal’s neck, and tying the other end to the Leopard’s waist, they set off to go to the cave.
As they were going there, the Mouse-deer, having seen that the Jackal was bringing the Leopard, began to beat the young ones. When the young ones were squalling, the Mouse-deer having come out, says, “Don’t cry; the Jackal is bringing another Leopard for you.” Then she says to the Jackal, “Jackal-artificer, after I told you to bring seven yoke of Leopards, what has the Jackal-artificer come for, tying a creeper to only this one lean Leopard?”
After she had asked this, the Leopard thought, “They have joined with the Jackal, and are going to kill me,” and began to run off. Then the creeper having become tightened round the Jackal’s neck, the Leopard ran away, taking him along, causing the Jackal-artificer to strike and strike against that tree, this tree, that stone, this stone.
The Leopard having gone a great distance in the jungle, after he looked [found that] the creeper had become thoroughly tightened on the Jackal-artificer’s neck. Having seen that he was grinning and showing his teeth, the Leopard says, “The laugh is at the Jackal-artificer. I was frightened, and there is no blood on my body,” he said.
When he looked again, the Jackal was dead, grinning with his teeth and mouth.
North-western Province.
This story is given in The Orientalist, vol. iv, p. 79 (D. A. Jayawardana), but the animals that went to the cave are wrongly termed tiger and fox, which are not found in Ceylon.
It is also related in vol. iv, p. 121 (S. J. Goonetilleke), the animals being a hind and a tiger.
In vol. i, p. 261, there is a Santal story (J. L. Phillips), in which a goat with a long beard, which had taken refuge in a tiger’s cave frightened it when asked, “Who are you with long beard and crooked horns in my house?” by saying, “I am your father.” A monkey returned with it, their tails being tied together. When they came to the cave, the monkey asked the same question, and received the same answer, which frightened both animals so much that they fled, the monkey’s tail being pulled off. When the tiger stopped, and began to lick himself, he found the monkey’s tail so sweet that he went back and ate the monkey.
In the Panchatantra (Dubois), a bearded goat frightened a lion that he found in a cave in which he took refuge, by saying, “I am the Lord He-goat. I am a devotee of Śiva, and I have promised to devour in his honour 101 tigers, 25 elephants, and 10 lions.” He had eaten the rest, and was now in search of the lions. A jackal persuaded the lion to return, but the goat frightened them again.
In Old Deccan Days (Frere), p. 303, a pandit frightened a demon in this manner, by scolding a wrestler who brought for dinner an apparent goat which the pandit recognised as a demon.
In Wide-Awake Stories (Steel and Temple), p. 132 ff.—Tales of the Punjab, p. 123 ff.—a farmer’s wife frightened a tiger that was going to eat a cow. A jackal persuaded it to return, their tails being tied together. On the tiger’s running off again, the jackal was jolted to death.
In The Indian Antiquary, vol. iv, p. 257, there is a Santal story by Rev. E. T. Cole, of a tiger which was frightened by two brothers. The three sat round a fire and asked riddles. The tiger’s was, “One I will eat for breakfast, and another like it for supper.” The men expressed their inability to guess the answer, and their riddle was, “One will twist the tail, the other will wring the ear.” When the tiger was escaping, they held the tail till it came off.
In Totā Kahānī (Small), p. 98, a lynx took possession of a tiger’s cave, and behaved like the mouse-deer when the tiger came up. When the tiger returned with a monkey, the lynx frightened it like the mouse-deer, by telling its young ones that a monkey friend had sworn to bring a tiger that day. On hearing this, the tiger killed the monkey, and fled.
No. 32
The Crocodile’s Wedding
In a certain country there is a Crocodile in the river, it is said. On the high ground on the other bank there was a dead Elephant. A Jackal of the high ground on this side came to the river bank, and on his saying “Friend,” the Crocodile rose to the surface.
Then the Jackal said, “Now then, how are you getting on, living in that [solitary] way? I could find a wife for you, but to fetch you a mate I have no means of going over to the land on that bank.”
The Crocodile said, “Anē! Friend, if you would become of assistance to me in that way can’t I put you on the other bank?”
The Jackal said, “If so, Friend, put me on the ground on the other side, so that I may go to-day and ask for a mate for you, and come back again.”
Then the Crocodile, placing the Jackal on his back, swam across the river, and after placing the Jackal on the other bank returned to the water.
The Jackal went and ate the body of that dead Elephant. Having eaten it during the whole of that day, he returned again to the river. Having arrived there, when he said “Friend,” the Crocodile rose to the surface and asked the Jackal, “Friend, did you ask for a mate for me?”
Then the Jackal said, “Friend, I did indeed ask for a mate; we have not come to an agreement about it yet. To-morrow I must go again to settle it. On that account put me on the ground on the other side.” So the Crocodile, placing the Jackal on his back, swam across the river, and placed the Jackal on this bank.
Next day, as it became light, the Jackal went to the river, and as he was saying “Friend,” the Crocodile rose to the surface. The Jackal said, “Friend, in order that I may go and make a settlement of yesterday’s affair and return again, put me on the other bank.”
Then the Crocodile, placing the Jackal on his back crossed the river, and having placed the Jackal on the other bank went again into the water.
The Jackal having gone to the dead body of the Elephant, and eaten it even until nightfall, came to the river after night had set in. As he was saying “Friend,” the Crocodile rose to the surface, and asked, “Friend, did you get it settled to-day?”
The Jackal said, “Friend, I have indeed settled the matter. They told me to come to-morrow in order to summon her to come. On that account put me on the far bank.”
After that, the Crocodile, placing the Jackal on his back, went across the river, and having placed the Jackal on the ground on this side returned to the water.
The Jackal next day also, as it became light, went to the river. When he said “Friend,” the Crocodile rose to the surface. The Jackal said, “Friend, if I must bring and give you your mate to-day, put me on the other bank.”
After that, the Crocodile, placing the Jackal on his back, went across the river, and having placed the Jackal on the ground on the other side, went into the water.
The Jackal went that day to the dead body of the Elephant, and having eaten it until nightfall the Elephant’s carcase became finished. In the evening the Jackal came to the river, and when he was saying “Friend,” the Crocodile rose to the surface, and asked, “Friend, where is the mate?”
Then the Jackal said, “Andō! Friend, they made a mistake about it to-day; they told me to return to-morrow to invite her to come. Because of that put me on the other bank again. Having come to-morrow I will bring and give you the mate.”
After that, the Crocodile, placing the Jackal on his back, swam across the river, and having put down the Jackal on the ground on this side, went into the water.
Then the Jackal, sitting down on the high ground on this bank, said to the Crocodile, “Foolish Crocodiles! Is it true that a Jackal King like me is going to ask for a wedding for thee, for a Crocodile who is in the water like thee? I went to the land on that bank to eat the carcase of an Elephant which died on that side. To-day the carcase was finished. So now I shall not come again. Thou art a fool indeed.”
Having said this, the Jackal came away.
North-western Province.
This story is known by the Village Vaeddās.
In The Orientalist, vol. ii, p. 46, this story is given by Mr. E. Goonetilleke, the Crocodile being termed an Alligator.
In Wide-Awake Stories (Steel and Temple), p. 243—Tales of the Punjab, p. 230—there is a variant in which the Jackal was attracted by a fruit-laden wild plum tree. He made love to a lady Crocodile, and was carried across the river by her.
No. 33
The Gamarāla’s Cakes
At a village there are a Gamarāla (a village headman or elder) and a Gama-Mahagē (his wife) and their four sons, it is said.
One day while they were there the Gamarāla said to his wife, “Bolan, it is in my mind to eat cakes. For the boys and for me fry ample cakes, and give us them,” he said.
The Gamarāla was looking out for them for many days; the Gama-Mahagē did not cook and give him the cakes.
Again one day the Gamarāla thought of eating cakes. That day, also, the Gamarāla reminded her of the matter of the cakes. On the following day the Gama-Mahagē having fried five large cakes, placed them in the corn store. The boys having gone to the chena and come back, after they had asked, “Is there nothing to eat?” the Gama-Mahagē said to the boys, “Look there! There are cakes in the corn store. I put them there for father, too; eat ye also,” she said. The boys having gone to the corn store, all four ate the cakes.
After they had eaten them, the Gamarāla, having gone to the watch-hut, came back. After he came the boys said, “Father, we ate cakes.” When the Gamarāla asked, “Where are [some] for me?” “Mother puts them in the corn store,” they said.
When the Gamarāla went to the corn store for the cakes to eat, there were no cakes. “Where, Bolan, are the cakes?” he asked.
Saying, “Why are you asking for them at my hands? If there are none the boys will have eaten them,” the Gama-Mahagē pushed against the Gamarāla.
Then the Gamarāla said, “Now I shall not remind you again. You do not make and give me the food I tell you about.” Having said, “It is good,” and thinking, “Having pounded and taken about half a quart of rice, and given it at a place outside, and got the cakes fried, I must eat them,” pounding the rice he took it away.
As he was going he saw a poor house. Having seen it the Gamarāla thought, “Should I give it at this house, these persons because they are poor will take the rice, and I shall not be able to eat cakes properly.” So having gone to a tiled house near it, and given a little rice, he said, “Make and give me five cakes out of this, please.”
The people of the house replied, “It is good,” and taking a little of the rice fried some cakes. The woman who fried them then looked into the account. “For the trouble of pounding the rice and grinding it into flour, I want ten cakes,” she said. “Also for the oil and coconuts I want ten cakes, and for going for firewood, and for the trouble of frying the cakes, I want ten cakes.” So that on the whole account for cooking the cakes it was made out that the Gamarāla must give five cakes.
Next day the Gamarāla, having eaten nothing at home, came to eat the cakes. Having sat down, “Where are the cakes?” he asked.
Then the woman who fried the cakes said, “Gamarāla, from the whole of the rice I fried twenty-five cakes. For pounding the rice and grinding it into flour I took ten cakes. For the oil and coconuts I took ten cakes. For going for firewood, and for the trouble of frying the cakes ten more having gone, still the Gamarāla must bring and give me five cakes.”
Then the Gamarāla thought, “Aḍā! What a cake eating is this that has happened to me!”
After thinking thus, having gone outside and walked along, and come to that poor house, he sat down. As he was thinking about it that poor man asked, “What is it, Gamarāla, that you are thinking about in that way?”
The Gamarāla said, “The manner in which they fried and gave me cakes at that house,” and he told him about it.
Then the man of that poor house said to the Gamarāla, “Since we are poor you did not give the rice to us. If he had given it to us wouldn’t the Gamarāla have been well able to eat cakes? The Gamarāla having given us the rice would have had cakes to eat, and still five cakes to give for that debt.
“For those cakes I will teach the Gamarāla a trick,” that poor man said to the Gamarāla. “The husband of the woman who fried the cakes has gone to his village. The woman is now connected with another man. Every day the man having come at night taps at the door when he comes. After she has asked from inside the house, ‘Who is it?’ he makes a grunt, ‘Hum.’ Then having opened the door he is given by her to eat and drink. To-day she will give the cakes made for the Gamarāla.
“After the Gamarāla has gone at night in that manner, and tapped at the door, she will ask, ‘Who is it?’ Then say, ‘Hum.’ Then she will open the door. Having gone into the house without speaking, she will give to eat and drink. Having eaten and drunk, and been there a little time, open the door and come away.” Thus the poor man taught his lesson to the Gamarāla.
In that manner, the Gamarāla having gone after it became night, tapped at the house door.[1] “Who is it?” she asked. “Hum,” he said. Then having opened the door and taken the Gamarāla into the house, she gave him cakes and sweetmeats to eat.
As he was eating them, some one else having come taps at the door. The Gamarāla became afraid. “Don’t be afraid,” she said, and sent the Gamarāla to the corn loft [under the roof of the house, at the level of the top of the side walls].
Having sent him there she asked, “Who tapped at the door?” “Hum,” he said. Then she opened the door, and after she had looked it was the Tambi-elder-brother,[2] who was trading in the village. She got him also into the house, and gave him sweetmeats to eat.
When a little time had gone, again some one tapped at the door. Then the Tambi-elder-brother, having become afraid, prepared to run off without eating the sweetmeats. “Don’t be afraid,” she said, and she put the Tambi also in another part of the corn loft [and he lay down].
Having come back, after she had opened the door and looked, it was the man of the house who, having been to the village, had come back. She gave him water to wash his face, hands, and feet. After he had finished washing, she gave him cakes and the like to eat, and water to drink. The man afterwards lay down to sleep.
When a little time had gone, the man who went first to the corn loft, the Gamarāla, asked for water, saying, “Water, water.” Then the man of the house having opened his eyes, asked, “What is speaking in the corn loft?”
“When you went to the village, as you were away a long time, I made an offering of a leaf-cup of water to the deity. Perhaps the deity is asking for it now,” she said.
Then the man told her to put a coconut in the corn loft. So the woman put a coconut in the corn loft.
The Gamarāla, taking the coconut in his hand, sought for a place on which to strike it [in order to break it, so that he might drink the water in it]. As he was going feeling with his hand, the Gamarāla’s hand touched a lump like a stone in hardness, the head of Tambi-elder-brother. After he touched it, the Tambi-elder-brother [not knowing what it was] through fear trembled and trembled, and did not speak. Then the Gamarāla, taking the coconut, struck it very hard on the head of the Tambi-elder-brother, thinking it was a stone.
The man of the house thought [before this], “The water in the coconut is insufficient for the deity. He will be ascending [and leaving us].” After he had quickly opened the door, and gone out to get more water to give him, the Tambi-elder-brother sprang from the corn loft, breaking his head, and ran away.
Then the man who came out to get the water said, “My deity! Here is water, here is water,” holding the water kettle in his hand. While he was calling out to him, the woman having opened her eyes said, “What is it, Bolan?” As she was coming outside the man said, “The deity jumped down and ran away.”
At that very time, breaking out from the corn loft, the Gamarāla also jumped down and ran off. Then the man of the house asks the woman, “Who is that running away?”
The woman says, “Why, Bolan, don’t you understand in this way? Didn’t the God Saman also run behind him?”
[2] A Muhammedan trader or pedlar, called “elder brother” in an honorary sense. [↑]
No. 34
The Kinnarā and the Parrots
In a large forest there is a great Banyan tree. In that tree many Parrots roost. While they were doing so, one day, having seen a Crow flying near, a Parrot spoke to the other Parrots, and said, “Bolawu,[1] do not ye ever give a resting-place to this flying animal,” he said.
While they were there many days after he said it, one day, as a great rain was falling at night, on that day the flying Crow, saying, “Kā, Kā,” came and settled on the tree near those Parrots.
That night one Parrot out of the flock of Parrots was unable to come because of that day’s rain. Having seen that this Crow was roosting on the tree, all the Parrots, surrounding and pecking and pecking the Crow, drove it out in the rain.
Again, saying, “Kā, Kā,” having returned it roosts in the same tree. As the Parrots getting soaked and soaked were driving off the Crow in this way, an old Parrot, sitting down, says, “What is it doing? Because it cannot go and come in this rain it is trying[2] to roost here. What [harm] will it do if it be here this little time in our company?” thus this old Parrot said. So the other Parrots allowed it to be there, without driving away the Crow.
While it was there, the Crow in the night left excreta, and in the morning went away. At the place where the excreta fell a tree sprang up [from a seed that was in them]; it became very large.
As it was thus, one day as Kinnarās were going near that [Crows’] village, having seen that another tree was near the tree in which the Parrots roosted, the Kinnarās spoke with each other, “In these days cannot we catch the Parrots that are in this tree?” they said.
Before that, the Kinnarās were unable to catch the Parrots in the tree. There was then only that tree in which the Parrots roosted. When the Kinnarās were going along the tree to catch the Parrots, the Parrots got to know [owing to the shaking of the tree], so all the Parrots flew away. Because of that they were unable to catch the Parrots.
The Kinnarās having [now] gone along the tree which had grown up through the Crow’s dropping the seed under the tree, easily placed the net [over the Parrots’ tree]. All the Parrots having come in the evening had settled in the tree. Having settled down, and a little time having gone, after they looked, all the Parrots being folded in the net were enclosed. The Parrots tried to go; they could not.
While they were under the net in that way, the Parrot Chief says to the other Parrots, “How has another tree grown up under this tree that we live in?” thus the Parrot Chief asked the other Parrots. “At a time when I was not here did ye give a resting-place to any one else?”
Then the Parrots say, “One day when it was raining at night, a Crow having come and stayed here, went away,” they said.
Then the Parrot Chief says, “I told you that very thing, ‘Don’t give a resting-place to any one whatsoever.’ Now we all have become appointed to death. To-morrow morning the Kinnarās having come and broken our wings, seizing us all will go away.”
When a little time had gone, the Parrot Chief [again] spoke to the Parrots, and said, “I will tell you a trick. Should you act in that way the whole of us can escape,” the Parrot Chief said. “When the Kinnarās come near the tree, all of you, tightly shutting your eyes and mouths, be as though dead, without even flapping your wings. Then the Kinnarās, thinking we are dead, having freed us one by one from the net, when they are throwing us down on the ground, and have taken and placed all there, fly away after they have thrown down the last one on the ground,” he said.
“That is good,” they said.
While they were there, a Kinnarā, tying a large bag at his waist, having come to the bottom of the tree, says, “Every day [before], I couldn’t [catch] ye. To-day ye are caught in my net.”
Having ascended the tree, as he was going [along it] the Kinnarā says, “What is this, Bola? Are these dead without any uncanny sound?” Having climbed onto the tree, after he looked [he saw that] a part having hung neck downwards, a part on the branches, a part in the net, they were as though dead.
Then the Kinnarā saying, “Aḍā! Tell ye the Gods! Yesterday having climbed the tree I had no trouble in spreading the net; to-day having come to the tree I have no trouble in releasing the net. Aḍā! May the Gods be witnesses of the event that has occurred! What am I to do with these dead bodies!” and freeing and freeing each one from the net, threw it down on the ground.
As he threw them to the ground he said “One” at the first one that he threw to the ground, and having taken the account [of them], after all had fallen, at the time when the Kinnarā, freeing the net, was coming descending from the tree, the whole flock of Parrots went flying away.
Village Vaeddā of Bintaenna.
A version of this story from the North-western Province, by a Durayā, though shorter, contains the same incidents, the tree, however, being another Fig, the Aehaetu, Ficus tsiela. It ends as follows—
“As he [the Kinnarā] was throwing them down in this way, having been counting and counting ‘One,’ the Parrot which he counted last having flapped its wings and screamed, [according to a pre-arranged plan, to show] that the man was cheated and that it had escaped, flew away. All the Parrots having gone, after they had looked into the account of the whole flock [found that] they were all correct.
“Then the Parrots said, ‘Let us not give a resting-place to the Crow. At the places where he goes he is a dangerous one. To us also, this danger came now [through him]. Aḍā! Because we gave this one a resting-place. O Vishnu, burst thou lightning on him who did this to us! Aḍā! Where shall we all go now?’ After flying and flying in the midst of the forest, all went to each place where they had relatives.”
The story is given in Old Deccan Days (Frere), p. 114, with the variations that a thousand crows came to the tree instead of one, and that snares of thread were used in place of the net. The last parrot did not escape, but was taken away and sold.
In Totā Kahānī (Small), p. 64, when a parrot and its young ones were caught in a net they feigned death. All the young ones escaped by this means. The mother was captured and sold to the King, and regained her liberty by pretending to fetch some medicine to cure his illness.
[1] Plural of Bola, regarding which see No. 5. [↑]
No. 35
How a Jackal settled a Lawsuit.
In a village there is a rich foolish man. One son was born to the man. When they had been there in that way for a long time, as the rich man’s son was growing up, his father died. Then all this wealth came into the hands of his son. The son was a fool just like the father.
One day, having seen a wealthy man going in a carriage in which a horse was yoked, that rich man’s son thought he ought to go in that way in a carriage in which a horse was yoked. This rich man having gone home spoke to a servant, and said, “I will give thee thy expenses for going and coming. Go thou, and buy and bring me a horse,” he said. Having said it, he gave him a hundred masuran, and having given them sent him away.
This servant having gone on and on, went to a great big country. Having gone there, he made inquiry throughout the country—“Are there horses to sell in this country?”
Then a man of that country said, “The Gamarāla of this country has many horses,” he said. This servant who went to bring horses having given a masurama to the man whom he had met, said, “Please show me the house of the Gamarāla who has the horses,” he said. So the man, calling the servant, having gone to the Gamarāla’s house, sent him there.
The Gamarāla asked these men, “What have you come here for?”
The servant who went to get horses said, “I have come to take a horse for money,” he said.
“For whom?” he asked.
“For a rich man in a village,” he said.
Having given fifty masuran he got a horse. After he got it he again gave a masurama to that man who went with him. Having given it, and the two persons having gone a considerable distance,[1] this man left both the horse and the man to go [alone], and went home.
When the servant had taken the horse, and gone a considerable distance, after he looked [he found that] night was coming on. On seeing it, taking the horse and saying, “This night I cannot go,” having sought and sought for a resting-place, he met with a place where there were chekkus (mills for expressing oil). There this man found a resting-place; and having tied the horse to an oil-mill, this servant went to a village, and ate and drank, and having returned went to a shed at the side of the oil-mill, and lay down to sleep. Having become much fatigued because he had brought this horse very far, the servant went to sleep.
At dawn, the man who owned the oil-mill, having arisen and come near the oil-mill, when he looked saw that a horse was tied near the oil-mill. So this man thought, “Last night the oil-mill gave birth to a horse”; and unloosing it from the place where it was tied, the owner of the oil-mill, having taken the horse home, tied it in the garden.
Then the servant having opened his eyes, after he looked, because the horse was not near the oil-mill went seeking it. Having seen it tied in a garden close to a house, he spoke to the [people in the] house, “Having tied this horse near the oil-mill, in the night I went to sleep. This one breaking loose in the night came here.” Unfastening it, as he was making ready to go, the man who owned the house came running, [and saying], “Where did my oil-mill give birth to this horse for thee last night?” he brought the horse back, and began to scold the servant. Then the servant thought, “Now I shall not be allowed to go and give this horse to the rich man. Because of it, I must go for a lawsuit.”
As he was going seeking a trial he met with a place where lawsuits were heard. The servant having gone [there] told the judge about the business: “When I was bringing yesterday the horse that I am taking for a rich man, it became night while I was on the road. As there was no way to go or come, I tied and placed the horse at this oil-mill, and went to sleep. Having arisen in the morning, after I looked, because the horse that I brought was not there I went looking and looking along its foot-prints. Having seen that it was tied in the garden near the house of the oil-mill worker, thinking, ‘This one breaking loose has come here,’ I unfastened it. As I was making ready to bring it away, having scolded me and said that the oil-mill gave birth to the horse, he took it,” he said to the judge; and stopped.
Then the judge says, “If the oil-mill gave birth to the horse, the horse belongs to the man who owns the oil-mill,” the judge said.
The servant having become grieved says, “What am I to do now? Without the masuran which the rich man gave me, and without the horse that I got after giving fifty masuran, having gone to the village what shall I say to the rich man, so that I may escape?” he said with much grief.
Then a Jackal having come there along the same road, and having seen it, asks the servant, “Because of what matter are you going sorrowing in this way?”
The servant says to the Jackal, “Jackal-artificer,[2] is the trouble that happened to me right to thee, according to what was said?”
As they were going along, the Jackal, having gone behind him, asks again, “Tell me a little about it, and let us go. More difficult things than that have happened to us—folds [full] of scare-crows tangled together. As we cleared up those with extreme care there is no difficulty in clearing up this also.” So the Jackal-artificer said to the servant.
Then the servant told the Jackal the way in which the rich man gave the servant one hundred masuran; the way in which, having given fifty masuran, he got the horse; the way in which, having brought the horse, he tied and placed it at the oil-mill; the way in which the oil-mill owner, unfastening the horse, went and tied it; the way in which, after he went to ask for it he would not give it, saying that the oil-mill gave birth to the horse, and came to scold him; then also what the judge said. The servant told [these] to the Jackal-artificer, making all clear.
Then the Jackal-artificer says, “Anē! That’s thick work. I’ll put that right for you. You must assist me also,” he said. “You yourself having gone near the judge again, and made obeisance, you must say, ‘The oil-mill did not give birth to the horse. The owner of the oil-mill, unfastening it from the place where I tied it, took it away. I have evidence of it. Having heard the evidence please do what you want,’ ” so the Jackal taught him.
So the servant having gone, made obeisance to the judge. “What have you come again for?” the judge asked.
Then the servant says, “The oil-mill did not give birth to the horse. Unfastening it from the place where I tied it, and having gone, he tied it up. I have evidence of it. Having heard the evidence do what you want, Sir,” he said.
The judge says, “It is good. Who is your witness?”
“The Jackal-artificer,” he said. So the judge sent a message to the Jackal to come. That day the Jackal did not come. On the following day, also, he sent a message. He did not come. Next day he sent a message. That day the Jackal, having thoroughly prepared himself, came to the judgment court.
After the judge asked, “Dost thou know about this lawsuit?” “Yes, Sir,” the Jackal-artificer said.
“Why didst thou not come yesterday,” the judge asked the Jackal.
“Yesterday I did not come; I saw the sky,” he said. While saying it the Jackal was sleepy.
Again he asked, “Why didst thou not come on the first day?”
“On that day I saw the earth,” he said. While saying it the Jackal was sleepy.
“Why hast thou come to-day?” he asked.
“To-day I saw the fire,” he said.
“Having seen the sky why didst thou not come?” the judge asked.
Then the Jackal says, “O Lord, the sky cannot be trusted. Sometimes it rains, sometimes it clears up. Because of that I did not come.” Having said it he was sleepy.
“Having seen the earth why didst thou not come?” he asked.
“That also cannot be trusted,” he said. “In some places there are mounds, in some places it is flat; in some places there is water, in some places there is not water,” he said. Having said it he was sleepy.
“What hast thou come to-day for?” the judge asked.
“To-day I saw the fire,” he said. “Because of that I came,” he said. Then the Jackal says, “After the fire has blazed up you do not look after your cold hut. I do not look after my palace also.”[3] Having said it the Jackal was sleepy.
On account of that saying the judge having become angry, “Being here what art thou sleeping for?” he asked.
“Anē! O Lord who will become a thousand Buddhas [in future existences], I am very sleepy indeed,” he said.
“Why, Bola?” he asked.
“Last night I went to look at the fishes sporting on the land. Because of that I am sleepy,” he said.
Then the judge having become angry with the Jackal, says very severely, “Having beaten him, cast ye him out.”
This rascally Jackal having prayed with closed paws, saying, “O Lord, who will become a thousand Buddhas,” fell down and made obeisance.
“In what country, Bola, Jackal, do the fish who are in the water sport on the land?” the judge asked the Jackal.
The Jackal said, “I must receive permission [to ask also a question], O Lord. How does an oil-mill which expresses the kinds of oils give birth to horses?”
Then the judge, having become ashamed and his anger having gone, told the rich man’s servant to take away the horse.
In Indian Fables, p. 45, Mr. P. V. Ramaswami Raju gives a South Indian variant of the latter part of this story. A thief stole a horse that was tethered to a tree, and then stated that he saw the tree eat the horse. The case was referred to a fox [jackal]. The fox said he felt dull. “All last night the sea was on fire; I had to throw a great deal of hay into it to quench the flames, so come to-morrow and I shall hear your case.” When he was asked how hay could quench flames, he replied, “How could a tree eat up a horse?”
In Indian Nights’ Entertainment, Panjāb (Swynnerton), p. 142, there is a story about a foal that was born in the night while a mare was left near an oil-press, and was claimed by the oil man. The King who tried the case decided that the “mare could not possibly have had this foal, because, you see, it was found standing by the oil-press.” A jackal assisted the owner to recover it, and fell down several times in the court, explaining that during the night the sea caught fire, and he was tired out by throwing water on it with a sieve, to extinguish it. When asked how this could be possible, the jackal retorted by inquiring if any one in the world ever heard of an oil-press’s bearing a foal.
In the interior of West Africa there is a variant, given in Contes Soudanais (C. Monteil), p. 23. A mare was buried near a house, and a pumpkin spread from the adjoining piece of land, until it extended round the stake to which she was formerly tied. When the owner of the pumpkin split open a fruit that grew near the stake, there were two foals inside it, which the owner of the mare claimed. The judgment was that as a dead mare could not bear foals nor a pumpkin contain horses, neither of the claimants had a right to the foals; but as one sowed the pumpkin, and the other had watered it, each should take one foal.
In another tale in the same volume, p. 141, a hyaena had a bull and a hare a cow, which bore a calf in the hare’s absence. This was claimed by the hyaena, as having been borne by the bull. The dispute was referred to a male rat, which sent its young ones to say that it could not leave its hole, as it was about to bear young ones. When the hyaena laughed at the idea, and inquired when such an occurrence had been known, the rat replied, “Since it has been the bulls which bore calves.”
[1] Hungak dura, “a great deal far,” a common village expression. [↑]
[2] Nari-nayidē; see also No. 56, and p. 28. [↑]
[3] The meaning is that no appearances can be trusted, not even those of the earth and sky; but that sometimes untrustworthy things, even such a dangerous thing as fire, are wrongly trusted. He was referring to the judge’s acceptance of the ridiculous statement regarding the birth of the horse. [↑]
No. 36
The Jackal and the Turtle
At a village there is a large pond. At the margin of the pond two Storks[1] live. When they had been eating the small fishes in that pond in that way for a long time, the pond became dried up by a very great drought. These two Storks having eaten the small fishes in the pond until they were becoming finished, one day a Stork of these two Storks having spoken to the other Stork, says, “Friend, now then, that we have been here is no matter to us. Because of it let us go to another district.” Thus he spoke.
Now, a Turtle stayed in the pond. The Turtle having heard the speech of these two Storks, the Turtle says, “Anē! Friends, I also now have been staying in this pond a long time. The pond having now dried up, I also have nothing to eat, nor water to be in, and nowhere to go. Because of it, friends, having taken me to the village to which you two go, put me down there,” the Turtle said to the two Storks.
Then one Stork says to the Turtle, “Anē! Bola, foolish Turtles! How wilt thou go with us to another village?”
Then the Turtle says, “Anē! Friends, I indeed cannot go flying to the village to which you go. You two somehow or other having gone with me must put me there.”
Then the two Storks say to the Turtle, “If thou, shutting thy mouth, wilt remain without speaking anything, we two having gone to the place where there is water will put thee down there,” the two Storks said.
Having said this they brought a stick, and said to the Turtle, “Grasp the middle of this stick tightly with the mouth, and hold it tightly.”
Having said this, the two Storks [holding the stick near the ends] took the Turtle. While they were going flying, as they were going above a dried field a Jackal saw the shadow going with the two Storks carrying the Turtle. Having seen it the Jackal says, “Isn’t this a troublesome comrade they are taking?”
Then the Turtle having become angry, says, “The troublesome comrade whom they are taking is for thy mother.” So the Turtle’s mouth was opened. Then the Turtle fell on the ground. The two Storks left him and went away.
The Jackal having come running, after he looked saw the Turtle, and turning and turning it over to eat, when he tried to eat it the Turtle says, “I have now for a long time been staying dried up without water. In that way you cannot eat me. Having gone with me to a place where there is water and put me in it, should I become soaked you will be able to eat me,” he said to the Jackal.
Then the Jackal having taken hold of the Turtle with his mouth, and placed it in a pond containing water, when he had been treading on it [to prevent it from escaping] for a little time, the Turtle says, “Now every place is soaked. Under the sole of your foot, Sir, I have not got wet. Should you raise the sole of your foot a little it would be good,” it said. So the Jackal raised the foot a little. Then the Turtle crept to the bottom of the mud. The Jackal quickly seized the Turtle [by its leg] again.
After he had caught it the Turtle says, “The Jackal-elder-brother being cheated has got hold of the Keṭala [plant] root.” The Jackal-elder-brother quickly having let go the Turtle, speedily got hold of the Keṭala root that was near by. Then the Jackal being unable [to go deeper], the Turtle going yet a little further in the water, says, “Bola! Even to-day you are Jackals! When didst thou eat us?”
Many Jackals prated to the Jackal about the Turtle. On account of the Jackal’s being unable to eat the Turtle or to seize it, he became much ashamed. While he was there, having contrived and contrived a trick, saying he must somehow or other kill the Turtle, another Jackal came there to drink water. Having drunk water, he asks the other Jackal, “What, friend, are you thinking of and clenching your nails about?”
Then the Jackal who was unable to seize the Turtle, says, “Friend, a Turtle cheated me, and went into this pond. Having become angry on account of that, I am looking for it in order to kill that one should that one come onto the land,” he said to the other Jackal.
That Jackal says, “Āē, Bola! Fool! How many Turtles are there yet in the pond? How canst thou seek out the one that cheated thee?” the Jackal that came to drink water said.
Every day in that manner this Jackal comes to the pond to drink water. One day when he came to drink water, having seen that a crowd of Turtles are grimacing on the lotus, the Jackal says, “If ye and we be friends, how much advantage we can gain by it!” Having spoken thus on that day the Jackal went away.
Having gone, when he met the Jackal whom the Turtle cheated he said, “Friend, having met with a crowd of Turtles while they were in the pond to-day, I spoke words [to them]. We must devise together a trick to kill them.” Having said this the two Jackals talked together.
Again, on a day when the Jackal went to the pond to drink water, having seen in the [same] way as on that day the Turtles grimacing on the lotus, the Jackal says, “How can ye and we remain in this manner? Should ye and we, both parties, take wives [from each other] wouldn’t it be good?” the Jackal asked the Turtles.
Then the Turtles say, “If so, indeed how good it would be!”
“Then one day we will come and speak with ye [about] the wedding.” Having said this the Jackal went away.
Having gone he says to the Jackals, “[After] speaking words with the Turtles who are in that pond regarding taking and giving wives I have come away.”
Then the other Jackals said, “It is very good. Some day let us all go.” So they spoke.
Again on a day, after the Jackal had gone to the pond to drink water, on that day, having seen that Turtles more than on the other day were [there], he says, “Friends, to-day about all of you are [here]. Because of it, on what day will it be good to come and summon [our wives]?” he asked.
“We will say in a day or two days,” they said.
The Jackal having drunk water and having gone, said to the other Jackals, “They said they will say in a day or two days [on which day we are to go to summon our wives].”
Then the Jackal whom the Turtle cheated said, “In some way or other we must completely destroy them. Friends, somehow or other having gone and spoken about this wedding, make ready quickly,” he said.
On the following day this Jackal went to drink water, and to speak about the wedding. Having drunk water the Jackal asked the Turtles, “When will it be good to come?”
“To-morrow will be good,” the Turtles said.
Then the Jackal says, “We shall all come. All ye also having got ready be present.”
Having said this, the Jackal quickly came running, and after all the Jackals had collected together, said, “Let nobody of ye go anywhere to-morrow. We must all go to call the Turtles for the wedding, and return.”
The Jackal whom the Turtle cheated said, “Somehow or other having sought out the Turtle that cheated me and called it to the wedding, I must torture it and kill it,” he said.
After that, all the Jackals having collected together, started to go to call the Turtles for the wedding. Having set off, the Jackal who drank water at the pond having gone in front to invite the Turtles [to be ready], said, “They are coming to summon you to the wedding. All ye having prepared for it be pleased to be quite ready,” he said.
Then all the Turtles having come and climbed onto the branches of trees fallen in the pond, were looking out.
The Jackal who came with the message having gone back near the Jackals, said, “All the Turtles having climbed on the trees and the branches, are present looking out till we come.”
Well then, all the Jackals having started, while they were going with the tom-tom beaters, the Jackal who drank water at the pond said, “You stay here. I will go and look if the Turtles are coming or what.”
Having gone, after he looked [he saw that] all the Turtles in the trees, more than the Jackals, all having climbed onto the branches, were looking out. Having seen [this] the Jackal says, “Haven’t you tom-toms, drums, kettle-drums?” the Jackal asked the Turtles. “There! we indeed are coming beating well the tom-toms, kettle-drums, drums, and [blowing] trumpets,” he said.
Then the Turtle Chief said, “Beat our tom-toms,” he said.
Then all the Turtles began to beat tom-toms by singing, “Gaja, Gaja; Gora, Gora; Baka, Baka,” enough to destroy the ears.
Then the Jackal having come running to the front of the Jackals, said, “All the Turtles having climbed completely along the branches of the trees are there. We all having gone near the Turtles must go along the trees that we can mount onto, and seize the Turtles,” he said.
Then the Jackal Chief said, “Not so. As we come very near the Turtles beat this tom-tom verse,” he said. Then all at a leap having jumped onto the trees where the Turtles are he told them to seize them. The very tom-tom verse that he told the tom-tom beaters to beat on the tom-toms is, “Ehe; Kaṭa, kaṭa, kaṭa. Ehe; Kaṭa, kaṭa, kaṭa.”
Then when they were far off, the Turtles having seen the Jackals coming, said, “There they are, Bola. Now then, get ready.”
As they were coming near, beating the tom-toms, “Ehe; Kaṭa, kaṭa, kaṭa. Ehe; Kaṭa, kaṭa, kaṭa,” the Turtles having heard all this, all the Turtles began to cry out, “Baka, Baka,” as they came near.
Then, as they came very near, singing “Baka, Baka,” all the Turtles sprang into the pond [and disappeared].
On account of this thing that they did, the Jackals became still more ashamed. “These Cattle-Turtles have cheated us,” they said; and having become angry, went away.
The way the Jackal-artificers called the Turtles to the wedding is good.
Village Vaeddā of Bintaenna.
The first part of this tale is found in the Jātaka story No. 215 (vol. ii, p. 123). In it two Hansas or sacred Geese asked a Turtle to accompany them to their home, a golden cave in the Himālayas. They carried it like the Storks. The Jackal is not introduced at all. Some village children saw the Turtle in the air, and made a simple remark to that effect. The Turtle, wishing to reply, opened its mouth, and was smashed by falling in the King’s court-yard.
In the Panchatantra (Dubois), as well as in a variant of the North-western Province of Ceylon, and elsewhere in the island, the story does not end at this point, but with the escape of the Turtle after the Jackal had soaked it in the water.
In the Kathā Sarit Sāgara (Tawney), vol. ii, p. 37, the story ends with the fall of the Turtle, which was being carried to a lake in which there was water. In this case, as in the Jātaka story, the point to be illustrated only required the Turtle to fall and be killed.
The variant of the North-western Province is practically identical with the first part of the Vaeddā tale, but the drought is stated to have lasted for seven years. The Jackal was about to howl, and on turning his head upward for the purpose saw two Black Storks carrying the Turtle.
He asked, “Where are you taking a present?” (referring to the way in which a considerable load is sometimes carried slung on a stick, the ends of which rest upon the shoulders of two men, one in front and the other behind). The Turtle replied, “For your mother’s head.” When the Jackal tried to eat it he heard the Turtle laughing inside the shell, and said, “Friend, what are you laughing at?” The Turtle said, “I am laughing at your thinking you can eat me in that way. I have been dried up for seven years, and if you want to eat me you must first soak me in water.” The Jackal did this, and the Turtle escaped in the way related by the Vaeddās.
The rest of the story is, I think, found only among the Vaeddās. Although it is clear that it must have been invented by the settled inhabitants of villages, the marriage custom according to which the bride was to be taken to the bridegroom’s house to be married is not that of the modern Sinhalese, but is in accordance with the story related in the Mahāvansa, i, p. 33, regarding the marriage of a Vaedi Princess at the time of Wijaya’s landing in Ceylon. The Sinhalese custom is found in the story of the Glass Princess (No. 4), in which six Princes accompanied by their parents, went to their brides’ city to be married, returning home with their brides afterwards.
It is probable that the original story ended with the escape of the Turtle from the Jackal after it was placed in the water. It is a folk-tale, and not a story written to illustrate a maxim. It appears to have been invented to show the folk-lore superiority of the Turtle’s intelligence over that of the Jackal. The Turtle is always represented as a very clever animal, not only because of the ease with which he can protect himself by withdrawing his head and legs inside the shell—of which Mr. A. Clark, formerly of the Forest Department of Ceylon, and I once had an amusing illustration at a pool in the Kanakarayan-āṛu, when his bull-terrier made frantic attempts to kill one, like the Jackal—but possibly also because, as I was told of another amphibious animal in West Africa, “he lives both in the water and on the land, therefore he knows the things of both the land and the water.”
In The Orientalist, vol. i, p. 134, the story as far as the escape of the Turtle was given by Mr. H. A. Pieris, the animals concerned being wrongly termed Tortoise, Cranes, and Fox; the two latter animals are not found in Ceylon. To this the Editor added the story found in the Hitōpadesa, in which the animals were a Turtle and two Geese, which agreed to carry the Turtle to another lake in order that it might not be killed by some fishermen next day. Some herdsmen’s boys saw it, and remarked that if it fell they would cook and eat it. The Turtle replied, “You shall eat ashes,” fell down, and was killed by the men.
In the Kathā Sarit Sāgara (Tawney), vol. ii, p. 37, the birds were “Swans” (probably Hansas, which are always represented as geese in ancient carvings in Ceylon). Some men made remarks to each other on the strange object that was being carried, and the Turtle, on asking the birds what the chattering was about, fell and was killed by the men.
In Old Deccan Days (Frere), p. 310, a Jackal escaped from an Alligator [Crocodile] in the same manner as the Turtle.
In Wide-Awake Stories (Steel and Temple), p. 155—Tales of the Punjab, p. 147—an Iguana or Monitor Lizard outwitted a Jackal who had caught him by the tail as he was entering the hole in which he lived. Both pulled for a long time without any result. At last the Lizard said he gave in, and requested the Jackal to allow him to turn round and come out. When released he disappeared into the hole.
[1] Kokkā, a word applied to several species of large waders. The name of the Black Stork is Mānā, but probably this is the bird referred to, as in the Sinhalese variant. [↑]
No. 37
The Lion and the Turtle
In a jungle there is a Lion King. While he was there, one day there was no prey for the Lion King when he was walking about seeking it. He obtained nothing as prey that day. As the Lion through fatigue was staying below a great big tree, avoiding the heat, he went to sleep.
While he was sleeping, a Turtle came out [of the bushes], having set off to go away from there. As he was going along, a “sara, sara” sound was heard, having been made by the dry leaves. The Lion King having opened his eyes[1] at the sound of this Turtle’s going, after he had looked saw the Turtle, and having become angry sprang at once near the Turtle. Having said, “Bola! What art thou going on a rapid journey in this manner for? Didst thou not see that I am [here]?” the Lion King pushed against the Turtle.
Then the Turtle says, “O Lord who will become a thousand Buddhas [in future existences], I didn’t come to cause you alarm, Sir; I am walking to procure my food,” the Turtle said to the Lion King.
“What art thou going to seek and eat in this forest?” the Lion asked.
Then the Turtle says, “O Lord, I am walking to obtain and eat any sort of things that I can eat,” the Turtle said.
Then anger having gone to the Lion, he sprang to eat the Turtle. Then the Turtle, having brought his head inside, became like a stone. After he became thus, the Lion turning the Turtle to that side and to this side, and having clawed him and bitten him, looked at him, having been unable to do anything to him. After he had been looking the Lion says, “Having been like a what-is-it stone, didn’t you preach to me in overbearing words?”
When he had been looking at him a little time, as the Turtle, having put his head outside again, was going off, the Lion says, “Bola, art thou a being who can do anything?”
“O Lord, the things that you, Sir, can do you do. I do the things that I can do,” the Turtle said.
“Bola, canst thou, who endest by drawing slowly and slowly what is like a lump of stone, run, jump, roar, swim in rivers that way and this way, equal to me? And what canst thou do to me, who having roared and caused the bottom of the ears to burst, and killed every animal, eats it?” the Lion said.
Then the Turtle says, “You, Sir, frighten and eat even all. You cannot frighten and kill, nor eat, me except on land. In the water, you, Sir, cannot swim that side and this side equal to me,” the Turtle said to the Lion.
After the Lion, having become angry, said, “Wilt thou come to swim that side and this side with me? If not, I will put thee under a large stone,” the Turtle having become afraid that he would kill him, having given his word to swim with the Lion that side and this side in a river, went near the river.
Having gone [there] the Turtle met with yet a Turtle, and said, “Friend, a great trouble has befallen me to-day.” After the friendly Turtle asked, “What is it, friend?” the other Turtle says, “The Lion King has come and wagered with me to swim that side and this side,” he said.
Then the Turtle says, “Why are you afraid of that, friend? Say, ‘It is good.’ I will tell you a good trick; you act in that way. What is it? You place a red flower in your mouth. I will place a red flower in my mouth. You having been on this side with the Lion King, and having sprung into the river and hidden at the bottom of the water very near there, remain [there]. I having hidden near the river bank on that side will be [there]. The Lion King having come swimming, as he is going to land on that side, I being near the river bank and having said, ‘Kūrmarsha,’[2] taking the flower will land [before him]. You also in that way having been hidden near the bank on this side, as the Lion King is going to land, having said, ‘Kūrmarsha,’ quickly land [before him].” The friendly Turtle having said [this], hid at the bottom of the water near the bank on that side of the river.
The Turtle that spoke with the Lion went near the Lion. Then the Lion asks, “Art thou coming to swim?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Turtle said.
Then [after they had gone to the river] the Lion said to the Turtle, “Thou, having swum in front, be off. I having come slowly shall get in front of thee,” he said.
Then the Turtle, also holding a red flower in his mouth, having descended to the river, and having gone a little far, got hid at the bottom of the water. While it was hidden, as the Lion was going swimming near the river bank, the other Turtle which stopped at that side, having got in front before the Lion landed, and said, “Kūrmarsha,” having placed a red flower also in his mouth, landed on the river bank at once.
The Lion having seen him, again sprang into the river. As he came to this side, the Turtle that remained at the bank at this side, having got in front of the Lion at once, taking the flower also, said, “Kūrmarsha,” and landed.
Again the Lion swam to the other side. In that very way the Turtle having been there and said, “Kūrmarsha,” landed [in front of him].
Thus, in that way, when swimming seven or eight times, the Lion, who was without even any prey that day, having become unable to swim, and being without strength in the middle of the river, died.
In a variant of the North-western Province, the Lion lived in a cave, and met the Turtle when he went to the river to drink. He told the Turtle that it was unable to travel quickly because it always lived in one place. The Turtle shrugged its shoulders, and replied, “Can you travel better than I?” The Lion challenged it to race with him, and the Turtle accepted the challenge, fixing the time eight days later.
The race of the two animals was not across the river, but along it, a series of Turtles having been stationed at various points where it was arranged that the Lion should come to the bank and call out, “Friend.” At each place a Turtle rose on hearing this, and said, “What is it, friend?” At the fifth stage, the Lion leapt over two stages as quickly as one, and broke his neck.
The resemblance of the race in this variant to that between Brer Rabbit and Brer Tarrypin in Uncle Remus is striking; it even extends to the number of stages, five in both stories.
In The Orientalist, vol. i, pp. 87, 88, Mr. W. Goonetilleke gave a variant from Siam, by Herr A. Bastian, in which the animals were the Garuḍa [or Rukh] and the Turtle; and two others by Lord Stanmore, from Fiji, where the animals were a Crane and a Crab in one instance, and a Crane and a Butterfly in the other, the insect being perched on the bird’s back during the race.
[2] Apparently this is Kūrma, turtle + marsha, √mṛish. The meaning would be “Permit the Turtle” (to precede you). In The Orientalist, vol. i, p. 87, in which this part of the story is also given, it is stated that there is a saying, Kūrmaya prativādena sin̥hasya maraṇan̥ yathā, “As the death of the lion by the reply [? Kūrmarsha] of the turtle.” [↑]
Part II
STORIES TOLD
OF OR BY
THE LOWER CASTES
No. 38
The Monkey and the Weaver-bird
In the midst of a forest there were a Wandurā (a large grey Monkey, Semnopithecus) and a Weaver-bird.
One day the Monkey came to the tree in which the Weaver-bird lodged, and after that a great rain-storm began. The Weaver-bird without getting wet remained in much comfort in its nest; the Monkey stayed in a fork of the tree, getting thoroughly soaked.
Then the Weaver-bird said, “Why does a person endowed with hands and feet, and strength, like thee, get soaked in this rain? Such a small animal as I am having built a house stays in it without getting wet. Not a drop of rain leaks into it. If I were equal to thee I should build a good house.”
On account of that remark the Monkey became angry, and saying, “What is my business to thee?” broke down the nest of the Weaver-bird.
Then the Weaver-bird went to the [Monkey] King, and instituted an action [against the Monkey]. Afterwards, orders were issued by the King to seize the Monkey. After remaining in concealment, the Monkey, thinking, “If I should be caught they will kill me,” plucked a Jak fruit, and went with it to the King. After that [the King] caused the Weaver-bird to be brought, so that he might try the case.
As he was inquiring into the case, it came to be accepted that on account of his breaking down the nest the fault lay with the Monkey. Then the Monkey said, “The action is coming to an end. Will the Maharaja be pleased to look behind me?”
At that very time, when the King having considered [his judgment], looked around, he saw that there was a Jak fruit behind the Monkey. Then the King, thinking, “The Jak fruit has been brought to be given to me for the sake of obtaining my favour,” said to the Weaver-bird, “The fault is in thy hands. Whether he gets soaked or however he may be, it is no affair of thine.”
Having said this, the King drove her away; and the Monkey, having given him the Jak fruit, went away.
At that time animals were able to talk.
Potter. North-western Province.
The first part of this story is given in the Hitōpadesa, but not the trial before the Monkey King.
No. 39
The Jackal Dēvatāwā
In a certain country there was a dead Elephant, it is said. A Jackal having gone to eat the Elephant’s carcase, and having eaten and eaten a hole into the Elephant from behind, passed inside it. While he was eating and eating the carcase of the Elephant as he remained inside it, the skin [dried and] became twisted up, and the path by which the Jackal entered became closed.
A man who was a tom-tom beater was going near it, taking a tom-tom for a devil-dance. Then among the bones the sound of tom-tom beating was heard. So the Jackal asked, “Who is going here?”
The tom-tom beater said, “I am going to this devil-dance.”
The Jackal said, “What art thou going this way for, without permission?”
The tom-tom beater replied, “O Lord, I am going without knowing about this [permission’s being necessary].”
The Jackal asked, “What wilt thou obtain for the dancing?”
The tom-tom beater said, “I receive presents and the like.”
Then the Jackal said, “I will give thee a present better than money. It is owing to thy good luck that thou hast come this way. I am a Dēvatāwā (deity) who is guarding his own treasure here. If I am to give thee the treasure, split one eye (end) of the tom-tom which is in thy hand, and having filled it with water and brought it here, pour it on this Elephant.”
After that, the tom-tom beater having plucked out the eye of the tom-tom, filling it with water brought it, and poured it on the Elephant’s dried up carcase. The Jackal, also, sitting inside it, worked and worked it into the skin with its muzzle. Having made the skin pliable it sprang out, and went away.
When this man looked inside, no deity was there, but there were many maggots. So the man, taking his broken tom-tom, went home.
In a few days afterwards, a rain having fallen, the Elephant’s carcase floated, and went down into the water-course. From the water-course it passed down to the stream. A flock of crows covered the carcase. As they were going eating and eating the dead body, it descended into the river, and from the river it passed down to the great sea. There the skin having rotted began to fall to the bottom. After the crows had looked [around], there was not even a tree [to be seen], and before they were able to fly to a place where there were trees their wings were broken, and they died.
Washerman. North-western Province.
A variant related in another village is nearly the same. Some tom-tom beaters passing the Elephant’s carcase were accosted by the Jackal, to whom they replied that they were going to “a pōya tom-tom beating,” that is, one given on the Buddhist sabbath, at the quarter of the moon. When he inquired what profit they would get from it, they stated that they would receive cakes and milk-rice. “You don’t want cakes and milk-rice,” he said, “I will give you gold. Bring water to this Elephant’s carcase.” They did so, breaking open the “eyes” of their tom-toms for the purpose, and the Jackal escaped.
The story concludes: “For the tom-tom beaters there was neither gold, nor cakes and milk-rice. Having broken their tom-toms, lamenting and lamenting they went to their village.”
In the Jātaka story No. 148 (vol. i, p. 315), a Jackal became imprisoned in the same way, but escaped when a tempest soaked the skin. The tale is also given in No. 490 (vol. iv, p. 206).
In the Kathā Sarit Sāgara (Tawney), vol. i, p. 77, a man crept inside the skin of an Elephant from which jackals had eaten the flesh. A rain-storm caused it to contract (?) and closed the aperture. The flood carried it into the Ganges and thence to the sea. There a Garuḍa [Rukh] picked it up, and took it to Ceylon, where the man escaped when it tore open the hide. I insert the following as an account of the supposed state of things in Ceylon under the rule of Vibhīsana, the Rākshasa King of Ceylon, after the death of Rāvana: “Two Rākshasas contemplated him from a distance with feelings of fear.” They reported his arrival to Vibhīsana, who sent for him and entertained him in a friendly and hospitable manner. When asked how he came to Ceylon, the Brāhmaṇa cunningly replied that he had been sent by Vishnu, who had informed him that Vibhīsana would present him with wealth. He stayed some time in the island, and was allowed a young Garuḍa on which to ride about the country, and at last he was carried back to Mathurā by it.
In Old Deccan Days (Frere), p. 179, a Jackal got inside a dead bullock, and informed the scavengers who came to bury it that he was the god of their village. They poured water on the hide, and he escaped.
In Indian Folk Tales (Gordon), p. 61, a live Elephant swallowed a Jackal. The Jackal fed on the heart and killed the Elephant, but was imprisoned inside when the skin dried up. When the God Mahādeo (Śiva), who was passing, heard cries and inquired who was there, the Jackal, after ascertaining who it was, said that he was Sahadeo, father of Mahādeo, and induced the latter to prove his identity by causing a heavy rainfall, owing to which the skin was softened and he escaped.
It is said in the Southern Province that all tom-tom beaters are fools.[1] In the North-western Province the same opinion is held regarding some of them. To what extent it is justified I am unable to say, but an example which supported the general notion fell under my own observation. Some jungle was being cut for an irrigation channel, at the side of an uncultivated field belonging to a tom-tom beaters’ village, and one of the men came to watch the progress of the work. I questioned him regarding eggs. He stated at first that only things which could fly laid eggs, but he admitted that this rule did not apply to crocodiles, lizards, and snakes. About bats he was not certain, but thought they do not lay eggs. Rats certainly do not lay them, he said.
I had seen a Green Bee-eater flying near us, and I observed a small hole such as this bird makes as its nest-hole, in the sandy ground. I drew his attention to it, and he at once asserted that it was a rat-hole; of that he had no doubt whatever. “Well then, let us see if there are any eggs in it,” I said, knowing that it was then the breeding season of the Bee-eaters.
He looked on, smiling ironically, while I got one of my men to open the tunnel carefully. When he came to the end, there on the sand, in a little saucer-shaped cavity, were four shining, spherical white eggs of the bird. The man was astonished, but was quite satisfied that they were rat’s eggs. “I saw them with my two eyes,” he said to my men, who all laughed at him.
The following stories were written for me as the foolish doings traditionally attributed to the tom-tom beaters of a village in the North-western Province. Apparently the village is at the side of a rice field.
[1] As in India, the tom-tom beaters were the weavers also in Ceylon, until cheap imported cloth put an end to weaving. In the Folk Tales of Bengal (Day), p. 233, the “proverbial simplicity” of weavers is mentioned, and in several stories in Indian Nights’ Entertainment (Swynnerton) their foolishness is the chief theme. In the Jātaka story No. 59 there is an account of a foolish tom-tom beater boy also. See also the story No. 10, in this volume. [↑]
No. 40
A Kaḍambāwa Man’s Journey to Puttalam
In order to go to Puttalam, a Kaḍambāwa man having yoked his bull in his cart, sent it in advance with the cart, saying, “My bull knows the way to Puttalam.” He himself walked behind the cart.
The bull [being without guidance], having gone completely round the rice field, came again to the path leading to the man’s house. There the man’s children came out, saying, “Aḍē! Has our father been to Puttalam and come back?”
The man [thinking he had come to another village] said, “What are you saying ‘Father’ to me for? I am a Kaḍambāwa man. I am going to Puttalam.” Then he again sent on the bull in front [as before].
In the same manner as before, the bull having gone round the rice field came again to the house. Then those children saying, “Aḍē! Has our father been to Puttalam and come back?” went on in front.
Then the man said, “Hā! At each place that I go to, the boys call me ‘Father.’ I am a Kaḍambāwa man. I am going to Puttalam. At a village on the road, also, certain boys said ‘Father’ to me.” So saying, he again sent on the bull in front.
In the same way as before, the bull turning round the rice field came again to the village. Again the man’s children said, “Aḍē! Has our father been to Puttalam and come back? Have you come on in front [of the others who went]?”
Then the man said, “Hā! At each place that I go to, the boys say ‘Father’ to me. I am a Kaḍambāwa man. I am going to Puttalam. At two villages on the road the boys called me ‘Father.’ ”
As he was setting off to go again, the man’s wife came and spoke to him. Then the man having recognised that it was his own house, unfastened the bull, and having sent it off to eat food stayed quietly at home.
In The Orientalist, vol. ii, p. 102, there is a story by Mr. A. E. R. Corea, in which a man who was going to a village in order to hire out his bull, allowed the animal to take its own way while he trudged behind it. The bull wandered about eating, and at last lay down near a stream. The man being tired out also lay down, and fell asleep. He was close to his own house, and was found by his children when they went for firewood. When they spoke to him, he denied that he was their father, and drove them away; but his wife afterwards came, and by means of her broom-stick convinced him that he was at home.
No. 41
The Kaḍambāwa Men and the Hares
The Kaḍambāwa men having gone to set nets, a great many hares were caught in the nets. Afterwards the men, having seized the hares, doubled up the hind legs of the hares at the joints, and the fore-legs at the joints, and threw them on the ground, in order to make a heap of them in one place afterwards. Then all the hares ran away into the jungle.
After all the hares in the nets had been finished, when they looked for the dead hares there was not even one hare. Then the men were astonished at the coming to life of the hares which they had killed, saying, “How thoroughly we killed the hares!” After having become fixed like stone [with astonishment] until nightfall, they went in the evening to their houses.
No. 42
The Kaḍambāwa Men and the Mouse-deer
The Kaḍambāwa men having appointed a wedding-[day], and having caught a great many Mouse-deer [for eating at it], tied clappers on their necks like those on goats, and having made an enclosure put them in it, and came away. The Mouse-deer escaped into the jungle.
Having gone to it on the wedding-day, when they looked there was not one Mouse-deer left. Then the men, saying, “Anē! The Mouse-deer that we reared have all gone,” came back to the village, much astonished.
No. 43
The Kaḍambāwa Men and the Bush
As the Kaḍambāwa men were going away with some drums one night, to attend a devil-dance, they met with a Warā[1] bush on the path, which looked like an elephant. The men became afraid, thinking, “Maybe an elephant has come onto the path.” At the shaking of the leaves of the Warā bush they said, “He is shaking his ears.”
Being afraid to go past the elephant, they beat the drums until it became light, to frighten the Warā bush. When they looked after it became light, it was not an elephant; it was a Warā tree. After that, they came back to their village. So they had neither the devil-dance nor went to sleep.
No. 44
How the Kaḍambāwa Men counted Themselves
Twelve Kaḍambāwa men having gone to cut fence sticks, and having cut and tied up twelve bundles of them, set them on end leaning against each other [before carrying them home]. Then a man said, “Are our men all right? Have all come? We must count and see.”
Afterwards a man counted them. When he was counting he only counted the other men, omitting himself. “There are only eleven men; there are twelve bundles of fence sticks,” he said.
Then another man saying, “Maybe you made a mistake,” counted them again in the same way. He said, “This time also there are eleven men; there are indeed twelve bundles of fence sticks.”
Thus, in that manner each one of the twelve men counted in the same way as at first. “There are eleven men and twelve bundles of fence-sticks. There is a man short,” they said, and they went into the jungle to look for him.
While they were in the chena jungle seeking and seeking, a man of another village, hearing a loud noise of shouting while he was going along the road, having come there to see what it was, found these twelve men quarrelling over it. Then this man asked, “What are you saying?”
The men said, “Twelve of our men came to cut fence sticks. There are now twelve bundles of sticks; there are only eleven men. A man is short yet.”
When this man looked there were twelve men. So he said, “All of you take each one his own bundle of fence sticks.” Then the twelve men having taken the twelve bundles of sticks came to their village.
In Indian Fables (Ramaswami Raju), p. 61, twelve pigs crossed a stream, and counting themselves in the same way on the opposite bank, thought that one had been drowned.
In Indian Nights’ Entertainment (Swynnerton), p. 305, seven Buneyr men [weavers] counted their number as six, and were so delighted when a shepherd proved that there were seven that they insisted on doing a month’s free labour for him. Next day, however, one killed his mother in driving a fly off her face, and another chopped off the heads of several goats for mocking him by chewing their cud while he was eating, so he dispensed with the rest of their services.
In the Adventures of the Guru Paramarta (Dubois, 1872) the Guru and his five foolish disciples, after long delay because of the danger, crossed a river in which the water was only knee-deep. On reaching the far bank one of them counted the party several times, omitting himself, and they concluded that one had been drowned in the river, which they had heard was a treacherous one. They lamented, and cursed the river, one after another, until a traveller arrived. When he had heard their story he offered to restore the missing man to them by means of magic, for which service they agreed to pay him all the money they had, forty panams of gold. He said to the Guru, “It is a very little thing in comparison with the service that I promise to render you. However, as you say it is all that you possess, and as you are in other respects a good man who does not intend any malice thereby, I consent.” He set the six persons in a row, and struck each one a good blow on the back with his stick as he counted him in a loud voice.
In the Laughable Stories, of Bar-Hebraeus (Budge), the counting tale is No. 569. A man counted his asses and found there were ten, then having mounted on one he omitted it, and made the number nine. He dismounted and found there were ten; mounted again and counted only nine. He got down again, and saw that there were ten. Then saying, “Verily there is a devil in me, for whenever I mount an ass I lose one of them,” he went on foot for fear of losing one permanently.
The counting incident is found in China also. In A String of Chinese Peach-Stones, by W. A. Cornaby, p. 276, a stupid Yamun underling who was taking a rascally monk to prison, kept counting the things he had with him, “Bundle, umbrella, cangue (the heavy wooden collar on the prisoner’s neck), warrant, monk, myself.” On the way he got drunk and went to sleep. The monk took advantage of the opportunity to shave his head and place the cangue on his neck, after which he absconded. When the man awoke, and began to count the things, he found everything there but himself.
No. 45
The Kaḍambāwa Men and the Dream
When some Kaḍambāwa men, having joined together, were going away to Puttalam, it became night while they were on the road. Having got a resting-place, and cooked and eaten, while they were sleeping a tusk elephant appeared to a man in a dream.
On the morning of the following day the man said to the other men, “Friends, last night I saw an evil dream.”
The men asked, “What was in the dream?”
The man said, “I saw a tusk elephant.”
Then the men began to interpret the dream. They said, “What is the meaning? If there is a tusk elephant there will be elephant’s dung; if elephant’s dung, paddy [which the elephant has eaten]; if paddy, uncooked rice; if uncooked rice, cooked rice; if cooked rice, it is a thing [found only] in the village. Therefore the elephant means the village. Something must have happened. It is useless for us to go on. Let us go back to the village.” So all, weeping and weeping, set out to return to the village.
As they came to the rice field of the village, the women and boys of the village having heard the men coming crying and crying aloud, said, “Anē! Our men are coming crying and crying. What is it? It will be a dreadful thing.” So the women and boys, having come from the houses to that side of the field before those men came across, began to cry also.
On seeing them, the man who saw the dream said to those other men, “Look there! Did I tell you falsely?” Then the men cried the more. Having seen it, these boys and women, they also cried more and more. The two parties having come quite near each other still cried. The women and boys on that side of the stile [at the edge of the field], these men on the field side of it, except that they cried said nothing.
While they were crying and crying until it became night, as a man from another village was going along the path he heard this uproar, and came to see what it was. He asked at the hand of the men, “What is it? Who is dead?”
Then the men, crying and crying, said, “Who is dead we don’t know.”
After that, the man having gone near those women and boys, asked, “What is it? Who is dead?”
Then those persons also said, crying and crying, “Who is dead we don’t know.”
Afterwards the man having stopped the crying of both parties, when he had asked them about it, there was nothing dreadful. So the man went away, and these men and women and boys, they also went to their houses.
In Indian Nights’ Entertainment (Swynnerton), p. 348, a weaver girl said to herself that it would be a good thing if she married in her own village, but if she had a son and he were to die, how her relatives and friends would lament! The thought of it made her cry. When her aunts and friends observed it they all cried too, and her father and uncles and brothers coming up and seeing all these people crying, also cried. When a neighbour asked the men what it was about, who was dead? they could not tell him, but referred him to the women. He then learnt that these also did not know, but cried because they saw the girl crying.
No. 46
The Four Tom-tom Beaters
This story is told in the Southern Province to illustrate the foolishness of this caste.
Four Tom-tom Beaters when proceeding along a road together, met a man of lower caste than themselves. Before passing them he made an obeisance, and (as usual in such cases) said, “Awasara,” “Permission”—that is, “Have I permission (to pass)?”—and then walked away.
While the Tom-tom Beaters were going along afterwards a dispute arose over it, each person claiming that he was the one who had been addressed, and to whom the obeisance had been made, as being the superior man of the party. Each maintaining his own view, and being unable to settle it in any other way, the four persons decided to refer the matter to the man himself. They therefore turned back and ran after him, and on overtaking him requested him to state from which of them he had asked the permission. As the question plainly indicated the sort of persons they were, he replied, “From the biggest fool among you.”
This left matters just where they were, as each one, in order to prove his claim to the obeisance, then declared himself to be the greatest fool; and at last they related their foolish actions. These were pointless, and I did not preserve the details. Each, however, had two wives, this being one of the grounds on which all based their claims, and the details they gave consisted of accounts of the ill-treatment that they received from these women.
In Indian Nights’ Entertainment (Swynnerton), p. 65, a traveller threw four pence to four weavers, each of whom claimed all the money. A second traveller’s reasonable suggestion that each should take a penny was rejected, and they ran after the man, and asked for whom he had given them. When he inquired which was the wisest they told stories that only indicated their extreme stupidity, and in the end he gave them four pence each, all being equal in this respect.
The Abbé Dubois gave a similar story from the Tamil of Southern India, the men being four Brāhmaṇas to whom a soldier said, “Saraṇam, eiyar” (“Homage, Sir”). The four replied, “Āsirvātam” (“Benediction”), and the man went off. After disputing about it, they ran after him for a league, and asked him whom he saluted. He said, “Well, it is the biggest fool of four whom I intended to salute.” Eventually the matter was referred to the headmen of the next village, who after hearing their accounts of their silly deeds, decided that each one might claim superiority over the others. “Thus,” said they, “each one of you has gained his case.” The men were satisfied, as each had won.
In Folk-Tales of Hindustan (Shaik Chilli), p. 1, there is a version in which two men were saluted by an old woman as they passed her. After a dispute over it, when they ran back and asked her about it, she replied that she saluted the greater fool of the two. Then they related their experiences to her, and she adjudged one to be a bigger fool than the other.
No. 47
The Golden Tree
At a certain city there is a King, it is said; there are three Princes of that King. The King, while sleeping, saw in a dream that a Golden Tree sprang up, and on that Golden Tree a Silver Flower blossomed. A Silver Cock that was sitting on the Silver Flower crowed.
Afterwards the King caused the three Princes to be fetched. When the eldest Prince had been brought he asked him, “Son, can you explain this dream which I have had?”
The Prince asked, “What appeared in the dream, Father-King?”
The King said, “A Golden Tree having been created, on it a Silver Flower blossomed, and a Silver Cock crowed while sitting upon the flower.”
The Prince said, “Anē! Father-King, I cannot interpret it; perhaps my two younger brothers will explain it.”
Then the King having caused the next Prince to be fetched, asked him, “Son, can you explain this dream?”
The Prince asked, “Father-King, what appeared in the dream?”
The King told him the manner in which the things appeared in the dream.
The Prince said, “Father-King, I cannot explain it; perhaps younger brother will interpret it.”
Then the King having caused the youngest Prince to be brought asked him, “Son, can you explain this dream?”
The Prince asked, “Father-King, what appeared in the dream?”
The King told him the manner in which the things appeared in the dream.
Then the Prince said, “O Lord, Your Majesty, I will interpret that dream, but I must first go in search of the explanation.”
After that, the three Princes obtained leave of absence for three years. Having got it, the three persons, cooking a bundle of rice, and taking from their father permission to depart, started to go in search of the interpretation. Having gone on and on, they came to a junction of three roads. Having arrived at it, and eaten the bundle of cooked rice, the eldest Prince said, “I will go along this road; you go on those two roads.” So the eldest Prince went along one road, the second Prince went along another road, and the youngest Prince went on the remaining road.
Having gone on and on, the youngest Prince arrived at the house of a widow woman. The woman said, “Anē! Son, what have you come here for? We have not even firewood for cooking.”
The Prince asked, “Why, mother, is that?”
The widow woman said, “There is a Yakā in the jungle in which is the firewood. The Yakā has now eaten all the people of this city; few people are now in it.”
The Prince asked, “How does that Yakā seize the men?”
The widow woman said, “When they go to the jungle and are cutting firewood, he comes saying ‘Hū,’ and eats them.”
Afterwards the Prince, taking his sword, went to the jungle, and chopped a piece of firewood. The Yakā came, saying “Hū.” Then the Prince chopped at the Yakā with that very sword, and the Yakā died there. After that, the Prince, taking a bundle of firewood, returned to the house of the widow woman.
The widow woman asked, “Son, did you meet with the Yakā?”
The Prince said, “I met with him; I killed the Yakā.”
Then having cooked with the firewood, she gave the Prince to eat.
On the morning of the following day the King went to the jungle, and chopped firewood. That day the Yakā did not come, saying “Hū.” Afterwards, through the Yakā’s not saying “Hū,” the King went to look for him, and saw that the Yakā was dead. So the King returned to the city, and saying, “I must find now, in a moment, the man who killed the Yakā,” caused proclamation to be made by beat of tom-toms to that effect.
Having heard it, this widow woman, summoning the Prince, went to the palace, and told the King that he had killed the Yakā. After that the King asked at the hand of the Prince, “How did you kill the Yakā?”
The Prince said, “I went to the jungle, and while I was chopping firewood the Yakā having come crying “Hū,” sprang onto me. Then I speedily chopped at him and killed him.” Having heard this, the King gave the Prince a district of that kingdom, and an elephant’s load of goods.
Afterwards the Prince gave all those things to the widow woman, and having gone away to another city, came to the house of a widow-mother. Having arrived there, the Prince said to her, “Anē! Mother, you must give me a resting-place to-day.”
The widow-mother said, “I can indeed give you a resting-place, but there is no place to sleep in. You cannot sleep in the veranda; a light falls there during the night, and any person who sees that light dies. Nobody can stop the light. In order to stop it, the King has made public proclamation by beat of tom-toms that to any person who stops it he will give an elephant’s load of goods, and a district of the kingdom.”
The Prince asked her, “Mother, where does the light fall first?”
The widow-mother said, “In an open grass field in the middle of the city.”
The Prince then said, “If so, go and tell the King to fix a raised platform at the place where the light falls, and having placed there a winnowing basket made of cow-dung, and a large pot of water, to come away. I will go there to-night and stop it.”
So the widow-mother went and told the King. After that, the King prepared the things in that very manner, and came away.
In the evening, the Prince, having eaten food, went onto the platform. Near midnight, while he was there the light fell there. When the Prince looked, the Nāga King of the world of the Nāgas, having come there, had ejected from his mouth the Cobra Stone, and having gone far away was eating food [as a cobra].
Then this Prince put the cow-dung winnowing basket on the stone, whereupon the Nāga King came crying out to the water-pot, taking it for the person [who had done it]. The Prince then chopped at him with his sword, and the Nāga King died. After that, taking the Cobra Stone, the Prince washed it with water from the pot, and put it away in the waist pocket of his cloth.
While he was there it became light. Then the King came to see if he had stopped the light. When he looked he saw that the cobra was lying in a heap. The King asked at the hand of the Prince, “Did you stop the light?” The Prince said, “Look there! The very one that made the light has been killed there.” Afterwards the King gave the Prince an elephant’s load of goods, and a district of that kingdom.
Afterwards, the Prince having given to the widow woman all the things that had been given to him, went along the path on which the Nāga King had come, to the world of the Nāgas. When he got there, all the three Princesses of the Nāga King whom he had killed were there, sitting in one spot.
The Princesses said to this Prince, “What have you come for? Should our father the King return now he will eat you.”
The Prince saying, “Your father the King cannot come. I have come here after killing your father the King,” showed them the Cobra Stone.
Then the Princesses asked, “What have you come here for?”
The Prince said, “I have come on account of a sooth-saying, in order to get it explained.”
The Princesses asked, “What is the sooth?”
The Prince said, “At the time when our father the King was sleeping, a Golden Tree having sprung up, and a Silver Flower having blossomed on it, a Silver Cock which was sitting upon the flower crowed.”
The three Princesses said, “We cannot explain it here. Let us go to your father the King.”
The Prince said “Hā,” and the three Princesses and the Prince set off to come to him.
They came to the junction of the three roads at which at first the three Princes separated. Having arrived there they went along the road on which the eldest brother of the Prince had gone, and having met with him the Prince said, “Let us go back, elder brother, these three Princesses will explain the dream”; so they returned. Then they all went along the road on which the next brother had gone, and having found him the Prince said, “Let us go back.”
Having summoned him to go with them, those three Princes and the three Princesses, six persons, having met together in this manner, came to the Princes’ city. Having arrived there, this youngest Prince caused their father the King to be called. So the King came to them.
Then these three Princesses who had come from the world of the Nāgas said to this youngest Prince, “Cause us three persons to stand at the thread” (that is, to toe the line). So this Prince caused them to stand at the thread.
Then the three Princesses said, “Cut off our three heads at one stroke.” So this youngest Prince cut off their three heads at one stroke. Thereupon the Golden Tree was created, and the Silver Flower having blossomed on it, the Silver Cock that was sitting on the top of the flower crowed.
Then this youngest Prince chopped down the Golden Tree with his sword, and the three Princesses came to life again. Having come to life, the three Princesses asked at the hand of the King, the father of the Princes, “Was it thus in the dream that appeared to you?” The King said “Yes.” Then the three Princesses told him that they were the Golden Tree, and the Silver Flower, and the Silver Cock.
After that, the three Princesses, having been married to the three Princes, remained there.
Tom-tom Beater. North-western Province.
The Cobra King with the gem, a diamond, which he laid down while feeding, and swallowed afterwards, occurs in Old Deccan Days (Frere), p. 36. A girl, disguised as a Prince, hung in a tree a large iron trap fitted with knives underneath. Below it she scattered flowers and sweet scents “such as cobras love,” and when the Cobra came at night she dropped the trap on him, and killed him. When she went to wash the diamond in the lake, the water on being touched by it rolled aside, and revealed a path which led to the garden at the Cobra’s palace. In the garden she found a tree with a silver stem, golden leaves, and clusters of pearls as fruits. In the end, the Cobra’s daughter came away with her.
In Folk-Tales of Bengal (Day), p. 18, a Cobra rose out of a tank, with a brilliant gem on its hood, which shone “like a thousand diamonds,” and lit up everything around. The snake put it down and went in search of food, and swallowed the two horses of a Prince and his friend, the son of the Minister, who were belated, and sitting in a tree. While the snake was at some distance, the Minister’s son descended, covered the gem with horse dung, and climbed back. The snake rushed to the spot, but could not find the gem, and eventually died. Next morning they descended, washed the gem in water, and saw by its light a palace under the water, in which they found a Princess whom the Prince married.
In the Jātaka story No. 253 (vol. ii, p. 197) we learn that the Nāga King called Maṇi-Kaṇṭha, “Jewel-throat,” appears to have kept the gem in his throat. He said—
Rich food and drink in plenty I can have
By means of this fine jewel which you crave.
In the story No. 543 (vol. vi, p. 94), the Nāga gem is mentioned as “the jewel which grants all desires.” Nāga youths are described as placing it on a hillock of sand, and “playing all night in the water by its radiance.” One on the head of the Nāga King is referred to on p. 97 as being one which, “bright-red like a lady-bird, glows on his head a diadem.”
In the Panchatantra (Dubois), three jōgīs when killed while eating became three large copper pots filled with gold and valuable jewels.
In Wide-Awake Stories (Steel and Temple), p. 176—Tales of the Punjab (Steel), p. 166—a Princess was brought to life by cutting off, at one blow of the Sword, the heads of a pair of ducks.
In The Indian Antiquary, vol. i., p. 115, in a Bengal story by Mr. G. H. Damant, a King dreamt of a silver tree, with golden branches, diamond leaves, and pearl fruits; peacocks were playing in the branches and eating the fruits. The tree was a girl, imprisoned by Rākshasas. When a Prince cut her in two she became the tree; when he dropped the knife she took her own shape again.
No. 48
The Seven Princesses
In a certain country there are a King and a Queen, it is said; there are seven Princesses [the daughters] of the King. A Prince younger than those seven is born.
The King went to a war, and having gone there the King was defeated in the war. When he returned, the royal food was not made ready for the King. Having arrived, he asked the Queen, “Why did you not prepare the royal food for me?”
Then the Queen said, “I cannot bring up your children, and prepare the royal food for you also.”
The King asked, “Why? What have the Princesses done?”
The Queen replied, “They go to the river, and after bathing there come back and rub oil on their heads, and comb their hair, [instead of assisting me to prepare the food].”
On account of that the King settled to behead the seven royal Princesses next day.
The Queen having cooked a bundle of rice and given it to those seven said, “Go to any place you like, or the King will behead you to-morrow.”
After that, they went off to the river, and after sitting there and eating the bundle of rice, the seven went away.
Having gone on and on, they went to the house of a Rākshasa. When they got there the Rākshasa was not at home. The seven persons asked for and obtained a resting place from the Rākshasī (female Rākshasa). Then the youngest Princess said, “We have no food; give us something to cook.” So the Rākshasī gave them a little paddy.
The youngest Princess, taking the paddy, said to the other six Princesses, “Elder sisters, come and pound this small quantity of paddy.” The six persons refused.
After that, the Princess having pounded it, when she went out to winnow it saw that there was a heap of human bones behind the house. The Princess bearing that in mind winnowed it, and returned without speaking about them. Then she called the Princesses to come and cook it; they did not come.
Afterwards the Princess having cooked, summoned those six persons to eat the rice. The six persons refused. Thereupon the Princess fed the six Princesses [by dividing the rice and giving each one her share of it].
Now, in the evening the seven Princesses went to sleep. There were seven girls at the house, the daughters of the Rākshasa, and the seven wore white clothes. The seven Princesses wore blue clothes. Then the youngest Princess having awoke in the night, took the seven white cloths of the seven Rākshasa girls, and put them on the Princesses, placing the dark cloths of the Princesses on the girls.
The Rākshasa having returned during the night, and having learnt from his wife of the arrival of the Princesses, put one of the girls out of those who wore the dark cloths, in a large cooking-pot, and having boiled her the Rākshasa ate his own daughter.
After seeing this, when the Rākshasa had gone to sleep, the little Princess, awaking those six Princesses, told them about it, and all the Princesses escaped together during the night. Having come to a river they remained there lying on a sandbank.
A King having come that way while they were there, asked, “Are you Yakās or human beings?”
The Princesses asked, “Is it a Yakā or a human being who asks?”
The King replied, “It is indeed a human being who asks, not a Yakā.”
Then the Princesses said, “We indeed are human beings, not Yakās,” [and they told him how they had escaped from the house of the Rākshasa and had come there].
On hearing this the King said, “Can you go with me?”
The Princesses having said, “We can,” went with the King to his palace, and became his Queens.[1]
On the night of the following day, a daughter of the Rākshasa, having heard how the King had taken away the Princesses, came there, and remained lying on the sandbank.
On the next day, also, the King having come that way asked, “Are you a Yakā or a human being?”
The Rākshasa’s daughter said, “Is it a Yakā or a human being who asks?”
The King replied, “It is indeed a human being who asks, not a Yakā.”
The Rākshasa’s daughter said, “I also am indeed a human being, not a Yakā.”
Then the King said, “If so, can you go with me?”
The Rākshasī having said, “I can,” went with the King to the palace, [and also became his wife.]
After a long time had gone by, all those seven Princesses were about to have children. One night, when the Princesses were asleep, the Rākshasī plucked out the eyes of the seven Princesses by magic, without awaking them, and having done so hid all the eyes. Then when the seven Princesses, having arisen, tried to go about, they were unable to go; they found that they could not see, so they lay down again.
Afterwards the King came to awake them. “Why are you sleeping yet?” he said.
The seven Princesses replied, “We are unable to get up; we have no eyes.”
The King asked, “How have your eyes become displaced?”
The seven Princesses said, “What has happened we do not know; they have been plucked out while we were asleep.”
Afterwards the King having said, “If so, go where you like,” drove them away. The King allowed only the Rākshasī to stay.
The seven Princesses, having gone on and on, and having fallen down at a pool, gave birth to seven Princes there. Now, there was no food for the seven, so having cut up the Prince of the eldest Princess, and divided the body into seven parts, they ate for a day. On the next day, having cut up the next Princess’s Prince and divided the body, they ate it. Thus, in that manner they ate the six Princes of the six persons.
On the next day they settled to cut up the Prince of the youngest Princess. Then the youngest Princess, on each of the days having put away her portions of flesh, said, “You shall not cut up my Prince. Look, here is your flesh,” she said, and gave them the six portions of flesh. The six persons ate them. [The narrator did not state how they subsisted after that.]
While this youngest Princess was rearing that Prince there, after the Prince went to the chena jungle one day, he met with a Vaeddā. The Vaeddā said, “Let us go together to the King’s city.”[2] The Prince said “Hā,” and went with him. There the King saw him, and being pleased with him gave him food and the like. The Prince having eaten, after he had come again to the pool the Prince’s mother asked, “Where did you go?”
The Prince said, “I went to the King’s city.”
His mother asked, “What did you go for?”
The Prince replied, “I went ‘simply’ ” (that is, for no special purpose).
The Princess having said, “Ahā!” while she was still there the Prince said, “I am going to the forge.”
Having gone to the forge he said to the smith, “Make and give me a bow and an arrow.” The smith said, “Cut a stick and come with it.” So the Prince went to the chena jungle to cut a stick. There was no suitable stick, but a golden shoot had fallen down there, and having taken it he gave it to the smith. The smith said, “This is not good; bring another stick,” so the Prince went and brought another stick. The smith made a good bow and arrow out of the stick, and gave them to him.
Then the Prince having taken the bow and arrow, and shot a deer, carried it to the city. After he had gone there they gave him paddy, rice, flesh, and cooking-pots, and the like for it. Then the Prince having taken them to the pool where the Princesses were, gave them to his mother the Queen. Afterwards he shot a deer every day, and having taken it to the city carried back to the Princesses the things that he received for it.
One day having shot a deer, as he was about to take it to the city the Prince’s mother told him to carry it to the palace. While he was there the Rākshasī saw him, and having made inquiry got to know that he was the son of the youngest Princess. So she said to him, “Take a letter to our house for me,” and gave it to him.
As the Prince was going that day taking the letter, it became night, so he went to a city, and asked a widow woman for a resting-place for the night. The woman of the house said, “Anē! What have you come to this city for? A Yakā has eaten all who were in this city. To-night he will be coming for my daughter.”
The Prince asked, “How will the Yakā come?”
The woman said, “Four miles away he says, ‘Hū’; then a mile away he says, ‘Hū’; and having come from there near the stile at the road, he says, ‘Hū’.”
The Prince asked, “Are there Kaekuna[3] seeds here?”
The daughter said, “There are,” and she gave him a sackful of them.
Then he told the daughter, whose father had been the King of the city, not to be afraid. “If the Yakā should come I will kill him,” he said. So the Prince went to sleep, placing a sword that he had brought at his side, and laying his head on the waist pocket of the Princess.
Afterwards the Yakā cried “Hū,” when four miles away, and tears fell from the eyes of the Princess on the breast of the Prince when she heard it. Next, the Yakā cried “Hū,” when a mile away. The Princess having spoken words to him on hearing it, he arose. “What is it?” he asked. The Princess said, “The Yakā is coming.” Then the Prince emptied the sack of Kaekuna seeds at the door, and took up his sword.
As the Yakā, having come, was springing into the doorway, he slipped on the seeds, and fell. Thereupon the Prince cut and killed the Yakā with his sword, and having put his body in a well which was there, covered it up with earth.
After the Prince had told the Princess about himself and the seven Princesses, he said, “I must go now.”
The Princess asked him, “What else is there in your hands?”
The Prince replied, “There is a letter which the Queen has ordered me to take to her home.”
The Princess having said, “Where is it? Let me look at it,” took it, and when she looked at it there was written in it, “Mother, eat the Prince who brings this letter, and eat the eyes of those seven persons.”
Then the Princess having torn up the letter, wrote another letter, “Mother, having taken care of the Prince who brings this letter, send medicine for the eyes of those seven persons.” Having written it she gave it into the hands of the Prince.
The Prince carrying the letter, and having taken a bundle of cooked rice to eat on the way, went to the house of the Rākshasī. As he was coming near the house he saw a Rākshasī sitting at the road. When she saw him she said, “The flesh of that one who is coming is for me.”
The Prince asked, “What art thou saying?” and gave the letter to the Rākshasī, and asked for the medicine for the eyes. After reading the letter the Rākshasī prepared abundant food for him, and gave him lodgings that day.
Next day, showing him a tree, she said, “After you have rubbed the juice of this tree on the eyes of the persons who are blind, their eyes will become well.”
The Prince said, “If so, tie a little of it in a packet and give me it.” So the Rākshasī having tied up a packet of it gave him it.
Then the Prince having taken it back, rubbed it on the eyes of those seven persons, and their eyes became well.
Afterwards, the Prince having gone with them to the city where he killed the Yakā, married the Princess, and remained there.
North-western Province.
This story does not appear to have been met with among the people of Southern India, but variants are well-known in other parts of the country. In all these forms of the tale the wicked Rākshasa Queen is killed.
In Indian Fairy Stories (Ganges Valley), by Miss Stokes, there are two variants, pp. 51 and 176. In both, a demoness or Rākshasī whom the King married induced him to cause the eyes of his other seven Queens to be plucked out, and six of the infants whom they bore were eaten, the seventh being saved as in Ceylon.
In one story the boy was sent for the milk of a tigress, an eagle’s feather, and night-growing rice; in the other he went for rose-water, flowers, and a dress. A friendly Fakīr in one tale, and a Princess in the other, substituted other letters for those in which the demons or ogres were instructed to kill him, so that he was well received and succeeded in his errands. In one case he got the blind Queens’ eyes, and ointment to make them as before; in the other he brought back magic water that cured them.
In Tales of the Punjab (Steel), p. 89, and Wide-Awake Stories (Steel and Temple), p. 98, the demoness Queen persuaded the King to give her the eyes of the seven Queens, which she strung as a necklace for her mother. The seventh boy, who was shooting game for the blind Queens’ food, was sent for the eyes and got thirteen, one having been eaten. The written message which requested that he should be killed was changed by a Princess. On two other journeys he obtained the Jōgī’s white cow which gave milk unceasingly, and rice that bore a million-fold, by the aid of which the seven Queens became the richest people in the kingdom. After he had married the Princess who assisted him, the King heard the whole story, and killed the demoness.
In Folk-Tales of Bengal (Day), p. 117, the Rākshasa Queen, after getting the seven Queens’ eyes plucked out, ate up all the people, and no one remained to attend on the King. At last the boy offered his services. He always left before night, the time when the Ogress caught her victims. She sent him to her mother for a melon, with a letter which he tore up. He got back safely, bringing a bird in which was the life of the Ogress Queen; when he killed it she died.
In The Indian Antiquary, vol. i, p. 170, there is a Bengal story by Mr. G. H. Damant. The Ogress or Rākshasa Queen obtained the eyes of the seven Queens from the King, and sent the boy for sea-foam, and afterwards for rice grown in Ceylon, “the home of the Rākshasas,” that ripened in one day. A Sannyāsi, or Hindu religious mendicant, changed him into a kingfisher on one trip and a parrot on the other, which brought the things, being re-converted into a Prince on the way back. Lastly, he was sent to Ceylon for a cow a cubit long and half a cubit high. The King paid him heavily for getting these things, and for the last one was obliged to sell his kingdom and give the proceeds to the boy. The Sannyāsi instructed him to conciliate a Rākshasī by addressing her as “Aunt,” and to deliver a pretended message from the Ogress Queen. He was well received, and learnt that the Rākshasas’ lives were in a lemon and the Ogress Queen’s in a bird. He cut the lemon and thus killed all the Rākshasas, brought back the blind Queens’ eyes, and killed the bird, and with it the Ogress Queen.
In Folk-Tales of Hindustan, Allahabad (Shaik Chilli), p. 105, the seven Queens were thrown into a large dry well; it is not stated that their eyes were plucked out. The seventh boy got his grandfather, a carpenter, to make him a wooden flying horse. He was sent for singing-water, magic rice, and news of the Rākshasa Queen’s relatives. He met a lion, a wolf, and various other savage animals, which he appeased by addressing them as “Uncle,” “Cousin,” etc. A kind Yōgī changed his letter, and he was welcomed by the Rākshasas, whose lives he learnt were in a number of birds. These he killed, taking back a pea-hen in which lay the life of the Ogress Queen, as well as the magic water and rice. Each of the animals sent a cub with him, and on his return these performed a dance, at the end of which he killed the pea-hen and the Ogress died. The persons who had been eaten by the Ogress revived when the magic water was sprinkled on their bones. The magic rice plant, called Vanaspati, grew into a tree forty yards high, and bore cooked rice.
In Folk-Tales of Kashmir (Knowles), 2nd ed., p. 43, the seven Queens’ eyes were put out, and they were thrown into a large dry well. The seventh boy was sent for the milk of a tigress, and then to the grandparents of the Ogress Queen. A friendly Fakīr having altered the messages, he was well received, got medicine that cured the blind Queens’ eyes, and also killed the birds and smashed a spinning-wheel in which were the lives of the Ogress Queen and her relatives.
At p. 446, also, the eyes of a Queen which had been plucked out were replaced and healed.
A variant of the Western Province of Ceylon, in which there were twelve Queens, whose sight was not regained, however, has been given already. See No. 24.
[1] This is prosaic love-making! [↑]
[2] Probably in order to sell deer’s flesh there. [↑]
No. 49
Mr. Janel Siññā
In a certain city there are a King and a Queen, it is said. There are six Princes. The youngest Prince of the six plays with (lit. beats) the ashes on the ash-heap at the corner of the hearth; the other five Princes are doing work, and going on journeys together.
The King said at the hands of the Queen that he must behead the Prince who was [idling] on the ash-heap. Then the Queen said, “What is the use of beheading him? Let us send the Prince whom we do not want to any place where he likes to go.”
Having come to the Prince, the Queen says, “Son, the King says that he must behead you; on that account go away to any place you like.”
Then the Prince said, “If so, give me a bundle of cooked rice, and a thousand masuran, in order to go and trade.”
So the Queen gave him a package of cooked rice and a thousand masuran.
The Prince took the masuran and the package of cooked rice, and having gone on and on, when he was coming to a travellers’ shed [saw that] a man was taking a brown Monkey,[1] in order to throw it into the river. This Prince called the man, and the man thereupon brought the Monkey and came to the travellers’ shed.
The Prince asked, “Where are you taking that Monkey?”
The man said, “I am taking this to sell.”
The Prince asked, “For how much will you give it?”
The man said he would give it for a thousand masuran. The Prince gave the thousand masuran that were in his hands, and got the Monkey, and that man having taken the thousand masuran went away.
The Prince having unfastened the package of cooked rice, and given some to the Monkey also, and the Prince himself having eaten, took the Monkey and came back to the very city of the King. When he came there the King was not at the palace; only the Queen was there. The Queen asked, “What sort of goods have you brought?”
The Prince says, “Mother, having given that thousand masuran I have brought a Monkey.”
Then the Queen says, “Anē! Son, should the King and the rest of them get to know that, he will behead you and behead me. As you have taken that Monkey put it away somewhere.”
So the Prince took the Monkey and put it in a rock cave in the jungle, and shutting the door came to the palace. While he was there the King saw him, and having seen him, called the Queen and said, “I shall not allow that one to stay in my palace for even a pāēya (twenty minutes). I shall behead him to-morrow.”
Afterwards the Queen came to the Prince and said, “Son, the King says he must behead you to-morrow, therefore go to any place you like, and do not come back.”
The Prince said, “Give me a package of rice, and a thousand masuran.”
Afterwards the Queen having cooked a package of rice gave him it, and a thousand masuran. The Prince taking them, and having gone to the rock cave where the Monkey was, took it and went to [another] city. At that city he ate the package of rice at the travellers’ shed, and having gone to the hearth the Prince slept on the ash-heap.
The Monkey went away to dance in cities. Having gone and danced, collecting requisite articles, he came back to the place where the Prince was, and the Prince cooked some of the things he brought, and gave him to eat. The Monkey goes every day to dance; and having danced, the Prince and Monkey, both of them, eat the things he brings. In that way the Monkey brings things every day.
One day, the Monkey having gone to a city and danced, fell down at the palace at that city. Then the King came and asked, “What is it, Monkey? Why have you fallen down there?”
The Monkey says, “I have come to beg and take the measure[2] in which masuran are measured.”
Afterwards the King gave him the measure for measuring masuran. The monkey having taken it and having been absent for as much as a month, brought the measure back.
Then the King asked, “What is this, Monkey, that having taken the measure thou hast been such a time [in returning it]?”
The Monkey says, “For just so much time I measured masuran.”
The King asked, “Having measured them did you finish?”
Then the Monkey said, “Andō! Could it be finished? Not even a quarter was finished.”
The King said, “Ahā!” and was silent.
The Monkey that day also having danced in that city, the King gave him many presents. Taking them, and stealing a cloth from a field where clothes were spread out [to dry], while he was coming a man having met him in the road asked the Monkey, “Monkey, to whom dost thou give the articles that thou art taking every day?”
The Monkey says, “I give them to our Mr. Janel Siññā. I am supporting that gentleman.”
The Monkey having gone to the place where the Prince was, says, “Here is a cloth. It is good for the gentleman, is it not?” and he showed him the cloth which he had stolen.
The Prince threw it aside, and said, “This cloth which I have is enough.”
Next day the Monkey having come to that city and danced, lay down on the lawn of the palace. Then the King asked, “What is it, Monkey, that you have fallen down there for?”
Then the Monkey says, “Our Mr. Janel Siññā burnt his cloth while drinking. I have come to ask you to cause the cloth to be woven for him [anew].”
The King said, “If so, bring it.”
Afterwards the Monkey having gone to the place where the Prince was, brought a thin cloth and gave it to the King. Afterwards the King caused one to be woven, and gave it to him.
Then the Monkey says at the hand of the King, “You ought to marry your Princess to our Mr. Janel Siññā.”
The King said, “Hā. It is very good.”
The Monkey, begging two copper pots,[3] went away, and having gone, heated water in the two copper pots, and having made the Prince bathe, said to the Prince, “Do not eat largely of the sorts [of food] after I have cooked and given [the food] to you [at the palace]. I have asked for a [Princess in] marriage for you after I went there.”
Afterwards the Monkey, summoning the Prince also, went to the palace of the King of that city. Having gone there, and prepared a seat at the King’s table, and made ready the food, after the Prince sat down to the food seven Princesses themselves began to divide [and serve] it.
Then that Prince began to eat very plentifully. The Monkey having come and nudged him with his finger, said, “You have eaten enough.” Taking no notice of it, the Prince went on eating. Having eaten that, he shaped his hand [into a cup] and reversing it there [when full], ate in excess.
Then the King asked the Monkey, “What, Monkey, is [the reason of] that?”
The Monkey said, “Our Mr. Janel Siññā having been overheated [by his bath] could not eat. Through that indeed it has befallen that he has lost his senses.” That also the King kept in mind.
Then the Prince and the King’s eldest daughter were married.
After that, the Monkey said that he wanted a thousand bill-hooks, and a thousand digging-hoes, and a thousand axes, and a thousand people. The King gave him a thousand bill-hooks, and a thousand digging-hoes, and a thousand axes, and a thousand people. [With these the royal party set off to deliver the Princess at the Prince’s palace.]
Afterwards, having given the tools to those people, the Monkey goes in front. The King and the Princess and the Prince come after. That Monkey goes [in the trees] jumping and jumping, and changing branches. The thousand people went footing and footing the road.
While going thus they met with a city. Then the King quietly told the Monkey to halt; it stopped. Then the King asked the Monkey, “Whose is that city that is visible?”
The Monkey says, “This city is our Mr. Janel Siññā’s. It has been rented out to his work-people.” Afterwards the King went on, keeping that also in his mind.
The Monkey again went in front. Then again they met with a city. Again the King having called the Monkey asked, “Whose is that city?”
Then the Monkey says, “It is our Mr. Janel Siññā’s. It has been rented out to his work-people. In that way are the cities belonging to our Mr. Janel Siññā [given out].”
Again the Monkey went off in front. Having gone thus, he went to the house of a Rākshasa, and having made the house ready in a second, when he stepped aside the King and the Prince and Princess went in.
The King made the thousand work-people stay there, and having handed over the Princess, next day went back to his city.
Afterwards the Monkey asked at the hand of the Prince, “For the help that you gave me I also am assisting you. What favour besides will you give me?”
Then the Prince says, “When you have died I shall weep abundantly, and having made a coffin, and put you in the coffin, I will bury you.”
Then the Monkey said, “So much indeed is the assistance I want.”
One day the Monkey lay down, trickishly saying that he was getting fever. The Prince did not even go in that direction. Next day and the next day he stayed there; on those days he did not go.
On the third day the Monkey cunningly shutting his eyes remained as though he had died. The Prince said to a man, “Look if that Monkey is dead.”
The man having gone near the Monkey, when he looked it was dead [in appearance]; he said at the hand of the Prince that it was dead. The Prince said, “Having put a creeper round its neck, drag it in the direction of that jungle, and having thrown it there come back.”
When the man tried to put the creeper on the Monkey’s neck the Monkey got up. “Don’t put the creeper on my neck,” he said.
Having gone near the Prince he said, “After I was dead [apparently], you were taking me without having put me in a coffin. Why do you [arrange to] drag me, having put a creeper on my neck? Don’t take even so much trouble.”
Having said this, the Monkey went off to the midst of the forest, and died.
Tom-Tom Beater. North-western Province.
Of course, this is an Eastern form of Puss-in-Boots.
In Folk-Tales of Bengal (Day), p. 226 ff., there is an account of a clever match-making Jackal which induced a King to marry his daughter to a weaver.
No. 50
The Nikini Story[1]
In a certain country there are a man and a woman, it is said. There is a girl (daughter) of those two persons.
The girl was asked [in marriage] for a Gamarāla of another country who had much wealth in money. The girl having been summoned, and having gone to the Gamarāla, and been with him for a long time, he went to chop jungle [for making a chena]. There he met with a fawn, and having returned home said to the girl, “Bolan, there was a fawn in the chena.”
The girl said, “Anē! After you have gone to-morrow bring it.” On the following day the Gamarāla brought it.
When the girl had reared it for a long time, a longing came to her, and she lay down. Afterwards the Gamarāla asked the Deer, “What, Deer, is thy elder sister’s illness?”
Then the Deer said, “Our elder sister has a longing.”
The Gamarāla said, “What can she eat for it?”
The Deer replied, “Our elder sister can eat the stars in the sky.”
Afterwards the Gamarāla, having gone to seek the stars, and to seek for the corner of the sky [where it joined the earth, so as to ascend to them], searched until he became aged, but was unable to find the corner; and the Gamarāla died.
Then the girl, having sold the Gamarāla’s village, took the money that was obtained there, and the wealth that he possessed [and left]. While the girl and the Deer were going on their way they met with a King. He asked the Deer, “Where, Deer, are ye going?”
The Deer said, “Our elder sister on account of thirst is going to seek a little water.”
Then the King said, “Wilt thou give thy elder sister to me [in marriage]?”
The Deer said “Hā”; so having placed the Deer and the Deer’s elder sister on the back of the King’s elephant, they went to the palace.
When a long time had passed, a longing came again to the girl, and she lay down.
The King asked the Deer, “What is thy elder sister’s illness?”
The Deer said, “Our elder sister has a longing.”
The King asked, “What can she eat for it?”
The Deer said, “Should you bring for our elder sister the sand which is at the bottom of the ocean, if she slept upon it she would be well.”
Afterwards, when the King was going to the bottom of the sea to take the sand, he was soaked with the water, and died.
After this, when the Deer and the Deer’s elder sister, taking all the King’s things, and cooking a bundle of rice, were on their way again, they met with a man. The man asked the Deer, “Where, Deer, are ye going?”
The Deer said, “We are going to seek a man for our elder sister.”
The man said, “If so, give thy elder sister to me.”
The Deer said “Hā,” and the Deer and the Deer’s elder sister went to the man’s house.
When they had been there a long time, a longing came to the woman, and she lay down. The man asked, “What, Deer, is thy elder sister’s illness?”
The Deer said, “Our elder sister has a longing.”
The man asked, “What can she eat for it?”
The Deer said, “Our elder sister must eat Nikini. Should she not eat it, it will not only be very difficult for her [to recover]; her life will be lost.” Now the sort called “Nikini” is not in any place whatever in the world. That ignorant man, not knowing of its non-existence, on account of the love that he bore for his wife went away on a search for Nikini.
Afterwards, when the foolish man was on his way to seek for Nikini, a man was ploughing. The man who was ploughing asked, “Where are you going?”
This man said, “I am going to seek for a little Nikini.”
Then the man said to this man, “If so, come here [and help me to plough].”
Those two having ploughed during the whole of that day, went in the evening to the house of the man who had been ploughing. Both of them having eaten cooked rice, the man who went to seek for Nikini asked that man, “Anē! Now then, tell me the place where there is Nikini.”
The man said, “Anē! I don’t know. Go you away.”
After that, when he had slept there that night, that man gave him a little cooked rice. Having eaten a little, while he was going on his way to seek for Nikini, a man was chopping earthen ridges in a rice field. The man asked, “Where are you going?”
This man said, “I am going to seek for a little Nikini.”
Then that man said, “If so, come here [and help me].”
After those two persons had chopped the ridges during the whole day, they went in the evening to the man’s house. While they were [there], having eaten cooked rice this man who went to seek for Nikini said, “Anē! Tell me the site where there is Nikini.”
The man said, “Anē! I don’t know. Go and ask at the hand of another person.”
When this man had slept there that day night, on the next day that man gave him a little cooked rice. Having eaten it he set off to go and seek Nikini. Then a man was sowing a rice field. The man asked him, “Where are you going?”
This man said, “I am going to seek for a little Nikini.”
The man asked, “What for?”
This man replied, “A longing has come to our house-mistress, so she told me to go and bring a little Nikini.”
The man said, “If so, come here and sow.”
For the whole of that day those two sowed. In the evening they came to the man’s house, and both of them having eaten cooked rice, while they were there this man said, “Now then, tell me the place where there is Nikini.”
Then the man said, “Yakō,[2] that was not [asked for] through want of Nikini. That was said through wanting to cause you to be killed. Your wife has a paramour.”
The man quarrelled with him, saying, “Not in any way. My wife is very good. She has great love for me. If you again say such a thing as that one is there, I shall strike you.”
The other man asked, “What will you give me to catch that paramour for you?”
The person who went on the search for Nikini said, “I have a gem which has continued with us from generation to generation. I will give you that gem.” [The man accepted this offer].
Then the two persons made a cage called, “The Cage of the God Sivalinga,” and tied white cloth in it [as a lining], and trimmed a wooden cudgel and placed it inside. The man [who had gone for Nikini] was also placed inside the cage with a cloth on his shoulders, and closed in with similar cloths. Men having been fetched [and engaged to carry it]—saying that he was bringing the God Sivalinga—took it on their shoulders, and going off with it they went to a Heṭṭirāla’s shop.
Then that man said [to the person inside the cage], “After I have placed it inside the shop, take the cash-box which is in it, and put it inside the cage.”
The Heṭṭirāla asked, “What is that cage?”
The man said, “Our deity, the God Sivalinga.”
The Heṭṭirāla asked, “What is it, then, that is necessary for offering to that deity?”
The man said, “The cooked rice from two quarts of raw rice, and sweet plantains are wanted.”
So the Heṭṭirāla brought and gave him the cooked rice from two quarts of raw rice, and ripe sweet plantains. After that, the man gave to the man in the cage the cooked rice from a quart of the raw rice, and half the plantains. The other man ate the rice from the other quart, and the remaining plantains.
In the evening the man gave the cage into the hands of the Heṭṭiyā, and told him to place it in the house. So the Heṭṭiyā put the cage in the house. [During the night the man inside it stole the cash-box.] When it got near midnight the man asked for the cage, saying, “Heṭṭi-elder-brother, give me my cage so that I may go.” The Heṭṭirāla gave it.
As the man, taking the cage, was going along he met with a city. Then that man said [to the man in the cage], “After I have taken this cage and placed it in the palace, you get the things in it and put them inside the cage.” Having said this they went to the palace. The King asked, “What is that?”
The man said, “Our deity, the God Sivalinga. We are able to say sooth and the like.”
The King asked, “What do you require for him?”
The man said, “Rice cooked from raw rice, and sweet plantains are necessary.”
So the King gave him cooked rice and sweet plantains. The man having given The King having said “Hā,” he brought it, and placed it inside the palace. As it was becoming light the man said, “Now then, I want the cage in order to worship the deity.” So the King gave him the cage. Afterwards, as the man was taking the cage near a tank it became light. He remained there until it was night, and then went to the house of the man who went to seek Nikini, and found that the woman had called in another man who was there. That man asked, “What is that?” The man said, “This is our deity, the God Sivalinga. We are able to tell sooth.” The man said, “Hā. It is good. There is a sooth that we, too, require to ask about.” Then the [pretended] Kapurāla, whom the God Sivalinga was [supposed to be] goading[3] to it, became possessed. When he was saying sooth, the wife of the man who went to seek Nikini and the false husband who had joined her, came with their arms interlaced, and saying to the deity that a long time had elapsed since her husband had gone in search of Nikini, they asked, “Has anything happened to him now?” At that time the God Sivalinga said through the person possessed by Sivalinga, “The man has now become blind. Besides that, he will not be permitted to return to his village. He will die while in that state.” Then because he said this in the manner that was in the mind of the woman, she took the food off the fire, and together with the false husband brought the deity to her house, and gave the rice cooked from two quarts of raw rice, and sweet plantains, in order that the Kapurāla might present an offering. That night, when he had eaten, the Kapurāla said, “We must place this our cage inside that [room].” “You may do it,” they said, and they placed it in the house. Then when the wife of the man who was inside the cage and the false husband were spreading mats [to lie upon], and making ready for sleeping, the Kapurāla who remained outside said, “Except that [cage], there is no room for two.” Thereupon the man who was inside the cage came out, and beat the false husband even on the cheeks with the cudgel that he had taken. So the man died. After that, the man, as it was becoming light, went and threw the Deer’s elder sister into the river. Having returned, and gone to the village with the Deer, the man who went for Nikini cooked for the other man, and gave him to eat. Then the two divided the money, and he gave the man the gem which he had, as a present for him, and sent that man back to his village. Afterwards this man, taking another wife, remained there. [According to another version, however, he became a Buddhist monk.] Tom-tom Beater. North-western Province. The story is also related in a contracted form in the Western Province. In a variant by a Tom-tom Beater of the North-western Province, a young Boar takes the place of the Deer, and the woman married first a King, and afterwards a Rākshasa who was sent for the Nikini. At the Boar’s suggestion he died by jumping into a fire made by the girl, and the Boar then followed his example, and was burnt up. The girl is represented as “smearing a great deal of gold on herself” before this, apparently becoming gilded. [1] Called also, “The Deer and the Girl and Nikini.” [↑] [2] An expression often used in village talk, without any connexion with its literal meaning, “O demon.” “Fellow!” nearly expresses its ordinary meaning, which is less respectful than that of the word Bola. [↑] At a certain city there are the King and the Queen, it is said. They had one son, and while the Prince was living there the Queen bore yet [another] Prince. One day the two Princes having gone to the river to bathe, a Princess from another city came to bathe [at the same place], and the eldest Prince hid the robes of the Princess. Afterwards, on his inviting the Princess she went with the Prince to his city. After they had gone there, when the King got to know of it he said, “Should this rascal stay with me the kingdom will be destroyed,” and he ordered them to behead the Prince. Then the Queen, the Prince’s mother, having cooked a bundle of rice and given it to him, said, “Go away where you like [or the King will behead you].” The Prince having taken the packet of cooked rice to the river, ate it with the Princess. After eating it the two persons went to the house of a widow woman. The Prince made the Princess stay with her, and having given the Princess’s robes into the hands of the widow woman, said, “Mother, put those robes into that box and this box” (that is, here and there, not all in one place, so that the Princess should not be able to find them). Afterwards, when the Prince had gone to the forge to get a sword made, the Princess said to the widow woman, “Mother, give me my robes to look at.” The widow woman said, “Anē! Daughter, I don’t know where they are.” The Princess said, “Why are you telling me lies? Give them to me.” On account of that, the widow woman opened the boxes, and gave the robes to the Princess. The Princess took the robes, and saying, “Should he see me again it will be as [wonderful as] if he should see the young of the Aet-Kanda Lēniyā, or white where charcoal has been rubbed,” went away to the city of the Princess. When the Prince came after getting the sword made, he asked at the hand of the widow woman, “Where is the Princess?” The woman said, “On her asking for her robes I gave them. Taking them, she said, ‘Should he see me again it will be as [wonderful as] if he should see the young of the Aet-Kanda Lēniyā, or white where charcoal has been rubbed’ [and then she went away].” The Prince on that account rubbed and rubbed charcoal, and when he looked there was a little white [colour]. Having seen it, he told the widow woman to cook cakes. When they were cooked he took some and ate; and tying up a cloth package of them, and taking it, and the sword, he went off. As he was passing through the middle of a forest, he saw a cobra beginning to climb a tree in which were the little ones of the Aet-Kanda Lēniyā, and he cut it in two with the sword. While he was climbing the tree after killing it, the little ones of the Aet-Kanda Lēniyā came to eat him. Then he said to the little ones, “O unrighteous ones! Why are ye coming to eat me? Look ye on the ground.” When the Aet-Kanda little ones had looked on the ground, and seen the cobra that he had cut in two, they said, “[As you have saved us from the cobra] we will render you any possible assistance.” Then the Prince after going to the nest where they were, unfastened the package of cakes, and having given to them also, ate. After eating, the little ones of the Aet-Kanda Lēniyā said, “Mother will indeed eat you to-day when she has come.” The Prince said, “Anē! Somehow or other you must save me.” They said “Hā,” and made him creep among their wings. While he was there the Aet-Kanda Lēnī (the female Rukh, their mother), having pierced with its claws a tusk elephant, came bringing it, after flying round the sea in three circles. After she had come she said, “What is this, children! Here is prey for you; are you delaying to eat? On other days you come screaming for it.” Those young ones said, “Mother, to-day we are not hungry. Food has been given to us.” “Whence?” she asked. The little ones said, “There is a man with us; [he gave it to us].” “Show me him,” the Aet-Kanda Lēnī said. “You will eat him, mother,” they replied. The Aet-Kanda Lēnī said, “I will not eat him.” “If so, take us and swear,”[2] the little ones said. Then the Aet-Kanda Lēnī swore, “I will not eat him.” After that, the little ones showed the Aet-Kanda Lēnī the Prince. The Prince said to the Aet-Kanda Lēnī, “Look at the foot of the tree; [I have saved your little ones by killing the cobra].” After having looked, the Aet-Kanda Lēnī said, “I will give you any possible assistance because you have done this.” Afterwards, the Prince having descended from the tree was unable to cross the river. So the Aet-Kanda Lēnī broke a stick, and bringing it in her mouth told the Prince to hang from it. While the Prince was hanging, the Aet-Kanda Lēnī flew to the other side of the river; after [leaving him there] she returned to the nest where the little ones were. The Prince went on. As he was going along, some men were taking a great many elephants. “What are you taking those elephants for?” he asked. Those men said, “We are taking them to kill at the city.” The Prince said, “I will give you these hundred masuran; let them go.” Those men, saying “Hā,” took the hundred masuran, and let the elephants go. After that, when he had gone much further still, he saw men taking a great many pigs. The Prince asked, “Where are you taking these pigs?” “We are taking them to kill at the city,” the men replied. The Prince said, “I will give you these hundred masuran; let them go.” The men said “Hā,” and taking the hundred masuran let them go. When the Prince had gone still a little further, men were taking a great quantity of turtle-doves. “Where are you taking those turtle-doves?” he asked. “We are taking them to the city to kill,” the men replied. The Prince said, “I will give you these hundred masuran; let the turtle-doves go.” The men said “Hā,” and taking the hundred masuran let them go. When he had gone a little further still, men were taking a great many fire-flies. “Where are you taking them?” the Prince asked. Those men replied, “We are taking them to the city to fry.” The Prince said, “I will give you these hundred masuran; let them go.” The men said “Hā,” and taking the hundred masuran let them go. When he had gone a little further yet, seven widow women came to the well for water [which they said they wanted in order] to pour water on the head of that Princess, who had become marriageable. A widow woman said to that Prince, “Take hold of this water-pot [and help me to lift it up].” Then the Prince having taken the jewelled ring that was on his hand, put it in the water-pot [unobserved]; after that he took hold of the water-pot [and helped her to lift it]. When they had taken the water, and were pouring it on the head of the Princess, the jewelled ring fell down. Having seen it [and recognised it], the Princess ordered the woman to tell the Prince to come. So the Prince went there. After he had gone there [and told her that he had made a white mark with charcoal, and had saved the lives of the little ones of the Aet-Kanda Lēniyā], that Princess said to the Prince, “[Before I will marry you, you must perform the tasks that I shall give you. First you must] cut a chena suitable for sowing one and a half amunas[3] of mun̥” (a small pulse). The Prince said “Hā,” and having gone and cut a branch or two at the chena, thought, “Anē! Will the elephants that I set free by giving a hundred masuran render an assistance?” Those elephants that he freed, having come at this word, broke down all that jungle and went away. After that, the Prince went to the Princess, and said, “The chena has been cut.” “Then set fire [to it],” the Princess said. So the Prince went and set fire [to the bushes]. The chena burnt excellently; nothing remained, so well it burnt. Having gone to the Princess he said, “I set fire to the chena.” Then the Princess gave him one and a half amunas of mun̥, and said, “Sow this and come back.” When the Prince had gone he took the mun̥ and sowed it at the chena. Afterwards the Prince said, “Anē! Will the pigs that I set free by giving a hundred masuran render an assistance?” Then the pigs that he had freed by giving the hundred masuran all came and dug [with their snouts] the whole of the chena. The Prince went to the Princess, and said, “I have sowed the chena.” After that, the Princess told him to collect and bring back the mun̥ that he had sown in the chena. So the Prince having gone to the chena, and collected a little mun̥, said, “Anē! Will the turtle-doves that I freed by giving a hundred masuran render an assistance?” Then the turtle-doves that he had set free having all come, picked up the whole. The Prince, collecting it and taking it to the city said to the Princess, “After collecting the mun̥ that I sowed in the chena I have come back.” “Then measure it,” she said. When he was measuring it there was one mun̥ seed less. As she said this a turtle-dove dropped it at the measuring place. After that, the father of the Princess put that Princess and seven widow women in a dark room. Having put them [there] the King said, “Unless you select and take out the Princess, or if you take out any other person, I shall behead you.” When the Prince had gone into the room [he thought], “Will the fire-flies that I freed by giving a hundred masuran render an assistance?” Then all the fire-flies having come, fastened on the body of the Princess, as a lamp. After that, the Prince took the Princess out into the light. [As he had performed all the tasks, the Prince was married to the Princess]. Afterwards the Prince, calling the Princess, went to the house of that widow woman. Tom-tom Beater. North-western Province. In a variant of the first part of this story, a youth whose father was dead, and whose mother, finding him in the way, wanted to get rid of him in order to marry another man, was sent by his mother to bring some milk, to be used medicinally for curing a pretended illness of hers. He was sent first to the Aet-Kanda Lihiniyā (Lēniyā is an alternative spelling), and had the same experiences at its nest, before he got the milk. The young birds told their mother that he was their elder brother, the son of their Puñci-Ammā.[4] When he stated that he had come to ask for the milk, the Lihinī (the female Rukh) said, “Andō! Son, when did any one get milk from me, and cure a sick person with it? She has done that to kill you, not through want of it. However, since you have come I will give you a little milk.” One of the young birds accompanied him to his home. After his mother had drunk the milk she pretended to be still ill, and sent him for the milk of the Demon Hound,[5] which lived in a cave in a forest. I translate this part:— The woman cooked and gave him a packet of rice. This youth, taking the packet of cooked rice and his sword, and making the little one of the Aet-Kanda Lihinī stay at the house, went to the cave where the Demon Hound was. When he arrived, the Demon Hound was not there; only the little ones of the Demon Hound were there. As the youth was going [to the cave] the little ones came growling to eat him. When this youth unfastened the packet of cooked rice, and showed them it, they stopped. Afterwards, the youth, having divided the packet of cooked rice, gave [part] to the Demon Hound’s little ones, and taking some himself, they ate. After they had eaten, the young dogs said, “When mother has come she will indeed eat you.” Then this youth said, “Anē! To-day you must somehow or other save me. Do not let her eat me.” The young dogs said “Hā,” and putting the youth in the hollow of the cave, the young dogs came to this side, [towards the entrance], and remained there lying down. While they were there the Demon Hound came. After she had come she said, sniffing twice, “Where does this smell of fresh human flesh come from?” The little ones of the Demon Hound replied, “You eat fresh human flesh, and you bring fresh human flesh; what is this that you are saying?” The Demon Hound said, “No, children, a fresh human smell is coming to me. Tell me [how it is]. Tell me.” The little ones said, “You will eat him.” The Demon Hound said, “No, children, I will not eat him. Tell me.” The little ones said, “Take us and swear.” After that, the Demon Hound took her little ones and swore, “I will not eat him.” Then the little ones showed her that youth, saying, “Here he is, mother; our little mother’s son has come, our elder brother.” The Demon Hound asked at the hand of this youth, “What, son, have you come for?” This youth replied, “Mother, our mother is ill. On account of it she said, ‘Should you go and bring a little milk, when I have drunk it I shall become well.’ Because of that I have come to ask for a little milk.” The Demon Hound said, “Andō! Son, when did a sick person get milk from me and become well! To [get] you killed is the explanation of that. However, since you have come, take a little milk and go.” So saying she gave him a little milk. Afterwards, as this youth was preparing to set off with it, a young dog said, “I also want to go with our elder brother,” and howling [on account of it was allowed by his mother] to come away with the youth. Having arrived and given the milk to the woman, after she had drunk it he asked, “Now then, mother, is your illness cured?” The woman said, “Andō! Son, it is not cured.” The youth asked, “If so, what shall I do?” The woman replied, “Bring a little milk from the Bear that is in the cave in the forest, and give me it.” He went for it, leaving the young Demon Hound at the house, and his adventures and the conversations were a mere repetition of those at the cave of the Demon Hound. One of the young Bears returned to the house with him. Lastly, he was sent to bring the milk of the Crocodile that was in the Sea, “the reservoir[6] for the sky, and the reservoir for the earth.” He ate his rice on a mound in the sea, after which, as he was descending into the sea, he observed a blue-lotus flower, and found the Crocodile at it. It came to eat him, but he held out his sword in front of him, so it asked him why he had come, and after hearing his explanation, in the very same words as before, gave him a little milk. It warned him, like the other animals, that the sending him for it was only a device to get him killed. He took the milk home, and after drinking it his mother informed him that she was cured. The story is then concluded as follows:— Having said this, the woman went to the man [whom she wanted to marry], and said, “Now then, there is no means of killing that one. From the places to which he went he has escaped and come back. What, then, shall we do to that one?” That man said, “Cook to-day after it has become night. I will break something in the lower part of the garden. Then say, ‘Son. There! Did you hear something break in the lower part of the garden? Maybe cattle have come in.’ He will come to see, and when he has come, I will chop him with the bill-hook, and kill him.” Afterwards, this woman having returned to the house, as she was cooking when it became night, the man came and broke a stick in the lower part of the garden. The woman said, “Andō! Son, maybe cattle have come in. Go quickly [and drive them out].” Then, as this youth, having gone into the house and taken his sword, was going out, that little one of the Aet-Kanda Lihinī, and the little one of the Demon Hound, and the little one of the Bear went with him. The three of them having gone [in front] to the lower part of the garden, bit the man who waited there, and having killed him returned. When this youth went and looked, the man had been killed. Then the youth came back, and having killed his mother stayed quietly there. So that little one of the Aet-Kanda Lihinī, and the little one of the Demon Hound, and the young Bear, and the youth remained at the house together. Tom-tom Beater. North-western Province. There are Indian versions of several of the incidents of these stories. In Old Deccan Days (Frere), p. 15, a Prince killed a cobra that was about to ascend a tree in order to destroy two eaglets. They assisted him afterwards. In the Kathā Sarit Sāgara (Tawney), vol. i, p. 221, the Garuḍas or Rukhs are described as being “of the nature of vultures.” A Brāhmaṇa got hid among the back feathers of one while it was asleep, and was carried by it to the Golden City next day. These birds are referred to (vol. i, p. 78) as breeding on a mountain called Swarṇamūla, in Ceylon. Compare also the account of Bhārunda birds in The Kathākośa (Tawney), p. 164. According to Prof. Sayce, the original idea of the Rukh is to be found in Zū, the storm-bird or god of the Sumerians (The Religions of Ancient Egypt and Babylonia, p. 353). A lion-headed eagle with outspread wings, holding a lion by each of its feet, formed the symbol of Lagash or Shirpurla, one of the earliest Sumerian cities. It was the emblem of Ningirsu, the god of the city (A History of Sumer and Akkad, by L. W. King, 1910, pp. 98, 100). According to Mr. King’s revised chronology, this takes back the notion of this gigantic eagle, which carried off and devoured the largest quadrupeds, to the fourth millenium B.C. Its Sumerian name was Imgig. In Folk-Tales of Bengal (Day), p. 134, a Prince’s wife, disguised as a Sannyāsi, or Hindu religious mendicant, on her way to join her husband who was ill—poisoned by lying on powdered glass that was spread over his bed—rested under a tree in which a pair of Rukhs (in this story called Bihangama and Bihangamī) had their nest, containing two young birds. She cut in two a snake that was about to climb the tree, and that was accustomed to kill the young ones each year. She overheard the conversation of the birds, which was to the effect that some of their droppings would cure the Prince, if reduced to powder and applied with a brush to the Prince’s body, after bathing him seven times, with seven jars of water and seven jars of milk. One of the birds carried her on his back to the Prince, with the rapidity of lightning. At p. 219, we learn that the dung of the young of this bird, when applied fresh to the eyeballs, would cure blindness. At pp. 189 and 192, a puppy and a young hawk joined a Prince on his journey, but apparently owing to the omission of some incident of the tale they were of no service to him. Such omissions are common; they can only be supplied by collecting variants. In Wide-Awake Stories (Steel and Temple), pp. 74, 75—Tales of the Punjab, pp. 66, 67—a crow, peacock, and jackal in turn warned a girl against a robber with whom she was going. At p. 273—Tales of the Punjab, p. 259—Prince Rasālu was given the task of separating a hundred-weight of millet seed from a hundred-weight of sand with which it had been mixed. This was done for him by crickets in return for his saving a cricket from a fire. In the Jātaka story No. 444 (vol. iv, pp. 19, 20), a man laid his hand on the head of a boy who had been bitten by a snake, and then repeated a spell to restore him to health. The boy’s father laid his hand on the boy’s breast while saying a second spell. In the Tamil Story of Madana Kāma Rāja, or “Dravidian Nights” (Naṭēśa Sāstrī), p. 21 ff., a Prince purchased for a hundred pagodas apiece, a kitten and a snake, which he reared for twelve years. They assisted him afterwards. At p. 91 ff., a Prince was ordered by a King to bring snake’s poison, and afterwards whale’s fat. At p. 109 ff., a Prince who had four heavenly wives lost them through his mother’s returning to one of them her celestial garment, which had been concealed. When in search of a way to his wives, he saved an Ant-King, a Frog-King, and a Cricket-King. He went to Indra, who gave him four tasks, of which one was that after an acre of land had been sown with sesame seed and ploughed one hundred times, he was to collect all the seeds. The Ant-King brought his subjects and collected them for him. Another of the tasks, the last one, was the selection of Indra’s daughter, who was one of his wives, from the four, who were all given the same appearance. The Cricket-King enabled him to do this, by hopping onto her foot. [1] Also written Lihiniyā, “the Glider,” a name applied to some hawks and swallows, etc. The whole name is “Tusk-Elephant-Mountain Hawk,” or Eagle. I could learn nothing of the “Tusk-Elephant Mountain.” This bird is the Rukh or Roc of the Arabian Nights. [↑] [2] Apparently she was to swear by them, touching them at the time. See No. 8, in which a Prince and Princess touched each other when swearing an oath. [↑] [3] An amuna is 5·7 bushels in the district where this story was told. [↑] [4] Little Mother, an expression meaning the mother’s younger sister, or the step-mother. [↑] [5] Yabbaelli, apparently a kind of demon in the shape of a dog. [↑] At a certain city there are a man and a woman, it is said. That woman was about to have a child. She cooked cakes to eat. While she was eating, a crow came, and stayed there looking on. “She will throw me a piece of cake, at least,” it thought. The woman did not give it even a bit of the cakes. Afterwards the crow went to the house of the Rākshasa, and breaking off a mango fruit came to that house, and ate it in front of the woman who ate the cakes. While the crow was eating, the woman thought, “It will throw down a piece of it, at least.” The crow did not give her any of it; it ate the whole and flew away. After the man of the house came, the woman said, “The crow brought a mango fruit, and turned it round and round, and ate the whole of it. [Somehow or other you must get me a mango.]” After that, the man went to the house of the Rākshasa, and having ascended the mango tree, tried to pluck a mango fruit. As he was plucking it the Rākshasa came home. Seeing the man in the tree, he asked, “Who is that in the tree?” “Anē! I am in the tree,” said the man. “What are you plucking mangoes for?” he asked. “For our house-girl to eat. [She is about to have a child, and has asked for one,]” he said. “Well then, pluck one and descend,” the Rākshasa said. So the man plucked one, and came down. After he had descended the Rākshasa said, “Should she bear a son he is for thee; should she bear a daughter, she is for me.” The man said “Hā,” and taking the mango fruit went home. News afterwards reached the Rākshasa that she had borne a girl. On account of it the Rākshasa went to the house [and took the girl]. As he was returning carrying the girl, he saw two boys going to school, and said, “Boys, boys, say a name for my daughter.” The boys saying, “Wimalī, Wimalī” (pure or beautiful one), ran away. So the Rākshasa took the girl to his house, and shared it with her. Afterwards, when he had gone to eat human flesh, the Rākshasa heard the sound of tom-toms saying, “Wimali,” [and thought they were calling the girl]. So he came home, and asked Wimalī, “Have you been out?” “No, I have not been out. I have just got up,” Wimalī said. Next day he went again to eat human flesh. After he had gone he heard the sound of tom-toms saying, “Wimali.” The Rākshasa came home, and asked Wimalī again, “Have you been out?” “No, I have just put on my cloth,” Wimalī said. The Rākshasa having gone to eat human flesh on the following day, again heard the sound of tom-toms saying, “Wimali.” He came home and asked Wimalī, “Have you been out?” “No, I have only just combed my hair,” Wimalī said. After that, news reached the King that a girl called Wimalī was at the Rākshasa’s house. Having learnt this, the King came to take away Wimalī. When he arrived there [the Rākshasa was out, so] he formed a figure of Wimalī out of rice flour, and after placing that figure in the Rākshasa’s house, took Wimalī to the city. The Rākshasa came to the house and [finding that she was not there] said, “Wimalī will not stay at home.” Then he tried to eat her figure, and ate a great part of the flour figure. After he had eaten this [his mouth was choked with the flour, so] he said, “May a mouth be created on the top of my head.” When he had said this [the mouth was created, and] the Rākshasa’s head being split in two by it, he died. Tom-tom Beater. North-western Province. A man having gone to the Lower Twelve Pattus (the name of a district) to seek for coconuts, and having collected fifty or sixty coconuts at a shed [where he was lodging, found that] because of their great weight he was unable to bring them; and so he expressed [the oil from] them. Having expressed it, on the morning of the following day he asked for two large pots, and filling them with the oil he tied them as a pingo (carrying-stick) load (one below each end of the stick), and set off with them. During the time while he was coming on his way to his village, he met a man in the road, and having given him betel, etc., to eat, said, “Anē! Friend, you must assist me a little. Take this pingo load somewhat far, and hand it over to me. I will give you four tuttu” (three halfpence). [The man agreed to help him, and took the load.] Then the man, as he was going along the road, thought, “With the funds provided by these four tuttu I shall buy a hen chicken. Having taken it home, after it has become large and laid twelve eggs I shall [set them under it and] get twelve chickens. After the twelve chickens have become big, I shall sell them for sixpence apiece. With that money I shall get a he-goat and a she-goat, and that she-goat will bear two kids. “When the kids have become large I can sell them for five rupees apiece, and having given the ten rupees I shall get a buffalo cow. While I am rearing the buffalo cow she will bear a calf. At that time I shall go to ask about a lucky hour (fixed by astrology) for taking the [first] milk. “After I have got to know the lucky hour and gone to take the milk, the buffalo cow, becoming afraid, will kick at me.” Saying this, he jumped aside in order to avoid it. As he was coming on the path, at this time he had reached a foot-bridge formed of a single tree trunk (ēdanḍa), and while going along at the middle of it he made the jump [to escape the cow’s kick]. As he jumped, he fell off the tree trunk, taking the load of oil with him [and the two pots were smashed]. At his fall, the owner of the oil asked, “Having come so far taking care of this oil, why did you throw it down and break the pots at this foot-bridge, friend?” The man said, “With the funds provided by the four tuttu I thought of buying a chicken. This happened owing to that.” Afterwards the owner of the oil, saying, “Never mind the spilling of the oil; you must go with me,” invited the man to accompany him, and they went together. Having arrived at the village, because he was a capable man [the owner of the oil] gave him his daughter [in marriage]. Not a very long time afterwards, the men of the village said that they must go to Puttalam to load salt and sun-dried fish, and bring them back [bartering part of them on the way home]. The man said, “Father-in-law, I also must go to Puttalam.” So the father-in-law made ready a cart load of goods, and giving them to him told him to go with the other men, and said, “[When disposing of the goods] the things which they count you also count and give; the goods which they give ‘simply’ (that is, without counting), you also give ‘simply.’ ”[1] Afterwards the men who went from the village, while coming back from Puttalam, from place to place gave the goods they were bringing, and took [in exchange] the things they wanted. The man having observed which goods they counted, counted and gave the same goods, without [taking] money. The goods which the other men gave without counting, that man also gave without counting. Thus, in that manner he gave all the goods loaded into the cart, until at last only the cart and the yoke of bulls remained over. Afterwards the men who went in the party gave goods, and each one got a horse. This man gave the cart and yoke of bulls and got a horse. While they were coming bringing the horses, the men of the party gave goods, and each one got a goat of foreign breed. So this man gave his horse, and got a goat. While they were bringing the goats, the men of the party, saying, “We must each one get a dog with a party-coloured body,” gave goods, and got one apiece. So this man gave the foreign goat that he was bringing, and got one. Having come to a shop where they were selling foreign pots, the men of the party gave goods, and each one got a foreign water-pot. This man giving the parti-coloured dog, also got one. Afterwards having come very close to their village, each of the men of the party, saying, “I will give four tuttu and get shaved,” got shaved. So this man gave that foreign water-pot, and got himself shaved. In the end the man returned home without either cart, or yoke of bulls, or goods. Tom-tom Beater. North-western Province. Some Eastern variants have been mentioned above in the story of the Kitul seeds, No. 26. In The Orientalist, vol. ii, p. 102, there is a story by Mr. A. E. R. Corea, in which a man who was going in search of work gathered some leaves on the road-side, which are eaten as a vegetable. In another district where there were no vegetables he exchanged them for fishes, a leaf for a fish. Going on, he bartered these for digging hoes, and these again for oxen, with which he set off on his return home. Having nothing to eat, he continued to give two oxen for two rice cakes, until at last he arrived at his house empty-handed. In the Panchatantra (Dubois), a Brāhmaṇa who had been at two feasts on the same day, carried away from the second some pots of ghī—or liquid butter,—milk, and flour, and began to consider how he would acquire wealth by means of them. He would sell them, and buy a she-goat, which would have kids, and in a short time he would possess a flock. He would then sell the goats and buy a cow and a mare, by selling the calves and foals from which he would become a rich man. He would get married and have numerous children, who would be well educated and well dressed. His wife would become inattentive to her duties at the house. During her absence the children would run about near the cows, and the youngest one would be injured by them. For neglecting them he would beat his wife, and taking up his stick to beat her he smashed the pots containing his provisions. [1] The word used, nikan, “no-act,” is employed in several senses; when a thing is given nikan, it usually means “without payment.” To come or go nikan, is to come or go without any special reason or business, and also to go empty-handed, as in a former tale. [↑] There are a King and a Queen of a certain city, and there is a daughter of the Queen. They asked [permission] to summon the daughter to go [in marriage] to the Prince of another city. The King said “Hā,” so they came from that city to summon the King’s Princess. After coming, they told the bride to come out [of her chamber] in order to eat the rice [of the wedding-feast]. The Queen said, “She is eating cooked rice in the house.” Then they told her to come out in order to dress her in the robes [sent by the bridegroom (?)]. The Queen said, “She is putting on robes [in her chamber].” Then they told her to come out in order to go [to the bridegroom’s city]. So the Queen told two persons to come, and having put a female Mouseling[1] in an incense box, brought it, and gave it into the hands of the two persons, and said, “Take ye this, and until seven days have gone by do not open the mouth of the box.” Having taken it to the city, when they opened the mouth of the box after seven days, a mouse sprang out, [and hid itself] among the cooking pots. There was also a (servant) girl at the Prince’s house. The girl apportioned and gave cooked rice and vegetable [curry] to the Prince, and covered up the cooking pots [containing the rest of the food]. Then the Mouseling came, and having taken and eaten some of the cooked rice and vegetables, covered up the cooking pots, and went again among the pots. On the following day the same thing occurred. The Prince said to the girl. “Does the Mouseling eat the cooked rice? Look and come back.” The girl having gone and looked, came back and said, “She has eaten the cooked rice, and covered the cooking pots, and has gone.” The Prince said, “Go thou also, and eat rice, and come back.” So the girl went and ate rice, and returned. Next day the Prince said, “I am going to cut paddy (growing rice). Remain thou at the house, and in the evening place the articles for cooking near the hearth.” Then the Prince went. Afterwards, in the evening the girl placed the things for cooking near the hearth, and went out of the way. The Mouseling came, and cooked and placed [the food ready], and again went behind the pots. After evening had come, that girl apportioned and gave the rice to the Prince. The Prince ate, and told the girl, “Go thou also, and eat rice, and come back.” So the girl went and ate rice, and having covered the cooking pots came to the place where the Prince was. Then the Mouseling came and ate rice, and covered up the pots. After that, she said to the [other] mice, “Let us go and cut the paddy,” and collecting a great number of mice, cut all the paddy, and again returned to the house, and stayed among the pots. Next day when the Prince went to the rice field to cut the paddy, all had been cut. Afterwards the Prince came back, and saying, “Let us go and collect and stack [the paddy],” collected the men, and stacked it, and threshed it by trampling [it with buffaloes]. Then they went and called the women, and having got rid of the chaff in the wind, brought the paddy home. After they had brought it, the Prince went near the place where the cooking pots were stored, at which the Mouseling was hidden, and said, “Having pounded this paddy [to remove the husk], and cooked rice, let us go to your village [to present it to your parents, as the first-fruits].” The Mouseling said, “I will not. You go.” So the Prince told the girl to pound the paddy and cook rice, and having done this she gave it to the Prince. The Prince took the package of cooked rice, and went to the Mouseling’s village, and gave it to the Mouseling’s mother. The Queen asked at the hand of the Prince, “Where is the girl?” The Prince said, “She refused to come.” The Queen said, “Go back to the city, and having placed the articles for cooking near the hearth, get hid, and stay in the house.” After the Prince returned to the city, he did as she had told him. The Mouseling having come out, took off her mouse-jacket, and [assuming her shape as a girl] put on other clothes. While she was preparing to cook, the Prince took the mouse-jacket, and burnt it. Afterwards, when the girl went to the place where the mouse-jacket had been, and looked for it, it was not there. Then she looked in the hearth, and saw that there was one sleeve in it. While she was there weeping and weeping, the Prince [came forward and] said, “Your mother told me to burn the mouse-jacket.” So the Mouseling became the Princess again, and the Prince and Princess remained there. Tom-tom Beater. North-western Province. The notion of a skin dress that could be put off and on, and that transformed a person into one of the lower animals, is well-known in folk-tales. It is found in Old Deccan Days (Frere), pp. 183, 193, where a King had a jackal-skin coat which turned him into a jackal when he put it on, until it was burnt. At p. 222, a Princess concealed herself by putting on the skin of an old beggar woman. She was discovered when she removed it in order to wash it and herself. In the end it was burnt by the Prince she had married, and she retained her true form as a Princess. In Indian Fairy Tales (Stokes), p. 41 ff., there is a Prince who had a monkey skin, which he could put on and off as he wished. In Indian Nights’ Entertainment, Panjāb (Swynnerton), p. 344, four fairies came in the form of doves, and took off their feather dresses in order to bathe. A Prince concealed one dress, and the fairy was unable to resume her bird form and fly away. In The Story of Madana Kāma Rāja, or “Dravidian Nights” (Naṭēśa Sāstrī), pp. 56, 57, there is an account of a tortoise Prince who had the power of leaving his shell and assuming his human form. His mother one day saw the transformation, and smashed the shell, after which he remained a Prince. In Folk-Tales of Hindustan, Allahabad (Shaik Chilli), p. 54 ff., the daughter of the King of the Pēris had the form of a monkey while she wore a monkey’s skin, and her own form at other times. When a Prince burnt the skin she took fire, and flew away in a blaze to her father’s palace. While she was ill there, the Prince discovered her and cured her, and she did not resume her monkey form. The feather-vest of the Dove-maidens—female Jinn—in the Arabian Nights (Lady Burton’s ed.), iii, p. 417 ff., is well known. They removed it for bathing, and could not fly without it. [1] Mī Paeṭikkī. It might be either a rat or a mouse. [↑] In a country there was a great person called Sīgiris Siññō. He was a very wealthy person; under him ten hired labourers worked. During the time while he was in this state, Sīgiris Siññō having thought he would drink arrack (spirit distilled from palm juice), began to drink a very little. In that way he became accustomed to drink very largely. Afterwards having come [home] drunk he went to beat the labourers; also he did not give them their wages properly. When he had acted in this manner for many days, they, after speaking together, gave Sīgiris Siññō a good beating, and on account of their [short] pay took the goods of Sīgiris Siññō, and went away. Then no one would give work to Sīgiris Siññō, so he drank until the goods in his house were finished. Then, there being nothing for this one to drink or eat, and having become like a madman, at the time when he was walking and walking about he saw a man carrying a young coconut. Begging, “Give me that,” and taking it, he went to a travellers’ resting-shed. While he was there eating the young coconut after breaking it, a great number of flies began to settle there. After he had struck at the flies with his hand, twenty died. Thereupon this one went to a person who did tin work, and said, “Anē! Friend, do a little work for me and give me it.” “What is it?” the tin worker asked. This one said, “Cut on a sheet of tin in Tamil and Sinhalese, ‘I killed twenty,’ and give me it.” Having said, “It is good,” he cut it and gave it. After he had cut and given it, this one took it, and preparing a hanging board, and hanging the sheet of tin on it, put the cord on his neck, and walked along the roads. Men who saw this stepped on one side through fear, and went away. Certain Tamils having seen this at a city, said to Sīgiris Siññō, “In our country the King has a giant. Should any one fight with him and win, the King said he will give him a present of five hundred masuran, and the post of Prime Minister. This being so, can you go there with us [and fight him],” they asked. Then Sīgiris Siññō, thinking, “Let me go even should I be struck by lightning,” said, “I am able to fight with the giant,” and went to that city with the Tamils. Having arrived there, these Tamils handed him over to the King under whom that giant had a post. The King asked this one, “I have a giant. Canst thou fight with the giant and win?” Sīgiris Siññō said instantly, “A son who has killed twenty giants better than that one am I.” So the King said to his giant, “Now then, do what fighting thou knowest, and conquer that one.” Then the giant said to Sīgiris Siññō, “To-day you must come and swim [against me] in the great sea for eight days. We require from the King ten rupees in order to get things to eat while we are swimming.” Having said this and got them, the two giants went to the shops, and got things for the ten rupees. Then Sīgiris the Giant said to that giant, “What are these few things! For one meal I want six quarts of rice and I want three bottles of arrack. I can swim for eight or ten months.” After that, this giant thought, “I can’t eat as much as this one, and I can’t drink as much, and I can’t swim for eight or ten months. Therefore I am indeed unable to swim with this giant and beat him.” He told the King so. The King said, “If so, thou wilt lose.” The giant said, “At swimming I shall lose. We must fight each other.” “It is good,” said the King. Then the King asked Sīgiris Siññō, “Canst thou fight with this one?” Sīgiris Siññō replied, “I will give that one one blow.” So the King said, “Fight ye each other to-morrow.” Thereupon Sīgiris the Giant said, “Not to-morrow. After a month has gone both giants will fight each other. Having proclaimed it, and put both of us into two houses under one roof, you must give us to eat until the month is finished.” The King said, “It is good.” Sīgiris the Giant having sought for an iron nail, from that day dug into the wall of the house in which the giant was [which separated their two rooms]. Having dug [nearly through] it, when the month would be finished to-morrow Sīgiris the Giant said to that giant, “Aḍē! Giant, give me a little tobacco.” That giant said, “How can I give you tobacco there?” Sīgiris the Giant replied, “Knock a hole through that wall with your hand, and give me it.” “I cannot,” that one said. Then Sīgiris the Giant said, “What sort of a giant art thou, one who can’t make a hole through that wall and give me a little tobacco!” Saying, “Look there! Give me it through there,” Sīgiris the Giant struck with his hand at the place which he had previously bored. When he struck it his hand made a hole through to the other side. That giant becoming afraid at the blow, began to tremble, and thought, “I can’t win in fighting with this one.” On the following day they made them come out to fight. The place was filled with people who had come to look on. Sīgiris the Giant thinks in his mind, “To-day is indeed my Fate. How shall I escape?” That giant, through fear his thoughts were the same. The King said, “Strike ye each other.” Having said, “It is good,” each one being afraid of the other, said, “Strike thou.” Sīgiris says to the other, “Thou strike,” he says. By that one and by this one not a blow was struck. Then the King says to Sīgiris the Giant, “Strike thou first.” Sīgiris the Giant said, “It is good,” and thinking of running away, and saying to the people, addressing them loudly, “Get to both sides, and stop there,” looked round to run off. At that, the other giant, rolling the people over, began to run away, and the people who were there cried “Hū,” after him. Then the King having become pleased with Sīgiris Siññō, and having given him a present of five hundred masuran, established him in the post of Prime Minister. Tom-tom Beater. North-western Province. In Wide-Awake Stories (Steel and Temple), p. 89—Tales of the Punjab, p. 80—a weaver who killed a mosquito thought himself a hero, and eventually became the ruler of half the country. In Indian Nights’ Entertainment, Panjāb (Swynnerton), p. 208, a weaver killed nine flies on his arm, and called himself Nomār Khan, the Nine-killing Prince. He became Commander-in-Chief. In the midst of a certain forest a Lion stayed. Having joined with that very Lion, a Jackal was eating and eating the flesh of animals killed by the Lion. After a few days had gone by, the Jackal, becoming arrogant, said to the Lion, “Don’t say ‘Jackal’ to me.” Thereupon, “What shall I say?” the Lion asked. Then the Jackal says, “You must call me, saying to me, ‘Jackal-artificer’ (Nari nayidē).” In this way, when the Lion had said, “Jackal-artificer,” for many days, he said, “Don’t say ‘Jackal-artificer.’ ” “What name am I to say?” the Lion asked. “Say to me, ‘Small Lion’; don’t say, ‘Jackal-artificer,’ ” he said. After the Lion had been saying, “Small Lion,” for a few days, “Say to me, ‘Great Lion’; don’t say, ‘Small Lion,’ ” he said to the Lion. Then the Lion says, “For me to say, ‘Great Lion,’ you must make the Lion’s roar,” the Lion said. Then the Jackal having gone near a tusk elephant, after he had cried out, as the Lion’s roar, “Hokkiyē, Hokkiyē” (the beginning of the customary yelping cry of the Jackal), the tusk-elephant kicked the Jackal. Thereupon the Jackal died. Tom-tom Beater. North-western Province. In the Jātaka stories 143 (vol. i, p. 306) and 335 (vol. iii, p. 75), a Jackal who acted as a Lion’s servant induced his master to let him go out in the latter’s place, in order to kill animals. He howled and sprang at an elephant, but was crushed to death by it. In a country there are seven robbers. Among them, in the same gang, there is a fool. One day they went to commit robbery. While they were there, they got a devil-dancer’s box, containing his mask and ornaments. Having brought it, the seven persons went into a rock cave to sleep. When they had gone there that foolish man became hungry. After the others went to sleep that fool took out the devil-dancer’s clothes, and having looked at them put them on. After he had put them on, one of those men opened his eyes. Then on account of the noise of the bells [of the devil-dancer] the others opened their eyes also. When they saw the man dressed in the devil-dancer’s clothes they were frightened, and saying, “Aḍē! The Kohomba deity is coming,” the other six persons ran away. As they were running, that man who had the clothes ran after them, saying, “Stay there, stay there.” While they were running those six persons leaped over a well [in the path]. This one also jumped, but being held back by the clothes he fell into the mouth of the well. After he had fallen into the well, a woman came to draw water. Then he placed his weight in the bucket when she lowered it. After the woman had got to know of the weight, striving and striving she got the bucket near the mouth of the well. The man who had fallen, and was in it, said, “A little more, my mother.” Then the woman hearing this [and seeing what she thought was a demon in the well], let go, and bounded away. Durayā. North-western Province. In The Orientalist, vol. i, p. 136, a story is given regarding twenty-five idiots, in which is a variant of this tale. Some robbers whom one of them was assisting left him outside a house with a basket that he had brought out of it. While they were inside searching for booty, he found in the basket the dress worn in representations of a demon termed Garā Yakā, and put it on. When the robbers came out they thought he was the demon himself, and ran off, with the idiot at their heels. In the end, they jumped into a well, were followed by him, and all were drowned. In a certain city there are a Gamarāla, a Gama-gāēni (his wife), and a son of theirs. The Gamarāla went to the chena. The Gama-gāēni lay down, and told the Gama-puta (the son) to examine her head [for insects]. While he was looking through the hair she fell asleep, and a fly settled on her head. “Aḍē! Fly, do not bite our mother’s head,” he said, “mother will scold me.” The fly having gone flying away, settled again on her head. Saying, “Now then, this fly is biting mother’s head again,” he placed his mother’s head gently on the ground. Then having gone and taken a rice pestle, and come back with it, he said, “Is the fly still biting the head?” and struck at the fly with the rice pestle, killing his mother with the blow. The boy’s father having come, tried to arouse her. “How is it that mother is dead?” he asked. The boy said, “A fly was biting our mother’s head. I struck it with the rice pestle. Because of it she died.” So the Gamarāla took the woman away and buried her. Then he came home with the boy. Having arrived, the Gamarāla told the boy to make a pot of gruel. Having made the pot of gruel he told the boy to take it, and they went to the jungle to cut fence sticks. The man, cutting and cutting the fence sticks, told the boy to draw them out, and throw them down. Then the boy, taking the fence sticks, threw them into the river. Taking the pot of gruel, and making a raised platform of sticks, he placed it on it. The Gamarāla said to the boy, “Now then, as you have come here, go and drink gruel.” Then the boy having gone under the stick frame, and pierced the bottom of the pot, and made a hole through it, placed his mouth under it, and drank a sufficient quantity. Still the gruel comes from the pot, so the boy said to the pot of gruel, “Father is there. Don’t come out, gruel.” Having cut the fence sticks, the Gamarāla came to drink gruel. There was nothing in the gruel pot. He asked at the hand of the boy, “Where, Aḍā! is the gruel?” “The gruel went out while I was saying don’t go,” he said. Then the Gamarāla thought, “There is no need to keep this boy,” and having beaten him he drove him away. As the boy was going, weeping and weeping, he met with a Buddhist monk.[1] There were two bundles in the Lord’s hand. He told the boy to take the couple of bundles. As the boy was carrying them he asked at the hand of the Lord, “What is there in the bundles?” “Palm-sugar packets,[2] and plantains,” he said. The Lord asked at the hand of the boy, “What is thy name?” The boy said, “My name is Aewariyakkā Mulakkā.” As he was coming along from there the boy lagged behind. So the monk spoke to the boy, “Aewariyakkā Mulakkā, Aḍā! Come on quickly,” he said. Then the boy ate some packets of sugar,[3] and rows of plantains.[4] The monk having gone to the pansala (monk’s residence), when he looked [found that] packets of sugar and rows of plantains were missing. “Aḍā! where are the other plantains and palm-sugar that were in these?” he asked. “Lord, I am a packet eater (Mulakkā), and a first-row-of-plantains eater (Aewariyakkā),” he said. “I ate them.” There and then, having beaten the boy, he chased him away. Then, as a washerwoman-aunt was washing clothes, she saw the boy going along, and asked him, “Can you live at our house?” “I can,” he said. She asked his name; Giyā (“He went”) he said was his name. Having taken the washed clothes, and placed them in the house, he asked at the hand of the mother for the [unwashed] clothes that were in the house. She told him to come [and take them]. After the boy had come in, the mother asked at the hand of the boy, “What is your name?” The boy said, Āwō (“He came”), and took the clothes away. Afterwards, because both the clothes and the boy were missing, [the washer-woman] having searched and looked for him, went home. On account of her going late the washerman called her [and asked the reason]. She said, “It is because of Giyā” (the words might also mean, “It is because he went”). A man who was in the house having heard it, said, “Aḍā! He said Āwō.” While both were saying, “Giyā,” “Āwō,” (“He went, he came”), the boy took the clothes, and went to his village. Durayā. North-western Province. The fly-killing incident occurs in Indian Nights’ Entertainment (Swynnerton), p. 306, in which a Buneyr man killed an old woman by throwing a stone at a fly that was on her face. In the Jātaka story No. 44 (vol. i, p. 116), a boy killed his father by striking with an axe at a mosquito that had settled on his pate, splitting his head at the blow. In the next Jātaka tale, a girl killed her mother by aiming a blow with a pestle at the flies that had settled on her head when she was lying down. In The Orientalist, vol. i, p. 284, there is a Kashmīr story by the Rev. J. H. Knowles, in which a bear who had become friendly with a man, killed him by throwing a piece of rock at a bee which had settled on his mouth. Reference is also made to a similar story in the Journal A.S.B., vol. iii, part i, 1883. A considerable part of the story now given is a variant of No. 10 above. I have inserted it on account of the low caste of the narrator. When the monk repeated the boy’s name on ordering him not to lag behind, he was in reality telling him to eat the plantains and sugar, the meaning of Aewariyak kā Mulak kā being, “Eat thou a first row of plantains; eat thou a packet (of the sugar).” [1] Unnānsē namak. In the villages, namak, “a name,” takes the place of kenek, “person”, in speaking of monks. [↑] In a certain country there are a Gamarāla and a Washerman.[1] Those two persons cut a chena. As they were cutting the chena a jungle-cock crowed. The Gamarāla said to the Washerman, “Please catch that crowing jungle-cock, and come back.” Then the Washerman said, “Will you do the chena work until I catch the jungle-cock and come back?” he asked. “Until you come I will do the chena work,” he said. From there that man came home, and remained there. When the chena [crop] was ripening he caught the jungle-cock, and went back. “I shall not give thee a share of the chena,” the Gamarāla said. Thereupon the Washerman instituted a lawsuit against him. When they were going for it on the day of the trial, he borrowed a cloth from the Gamarāla, and went after putting it on. When the action was being heard the Washerman said, “He will say next that this cloth is that gentleman’s.” Then the Gamarāla said, “It is so indeed. If not, Bola, whose is that cloth?” he asked. The Washerman said, “There! I said so. O Lord, when coming on account of this day of the trial, was it necessary for me to ask for a cloth from that gentleman? Am I without clothes to that extent?” After that, the judge told them to divide the chena in two, [and each take half of it]. Afterwards, having come there they divided it in two. Again, this Washerman and the Gamarāla sowed a paddy field (rice field). Of the paddy plants in the field, those things that were above the ground were for the Washerman, they said. Those which were below the ground were for the Gamarāla, they said. Having cut the paddy when the crop ripened, they threshed it by trampling [with cattle], and the Washerman took the paddy. Afterwards they cut the ground; there was nothing for the Gamarāla. Again, these two persons planted onions. This time, those things that were above the ground were for the Gamarāla, they said. Those that were below the ground were for the Washerman, they said. When the crop was ready, the Gamarāla having cut off the onion stumps, heaps them up together; the Washerman dug up and got the onions. After that, those two persons got a buffalo bull. The front part of that bull was for the Washerman, they said; the after part for the Gamarāla, they said. Next, the two persons got a buffalo cow. The front part was for the Gamarāla; the after part for the Washerman, they said. Thereupon the calves which the buffalo cow bore belonged to the Washerman, he said. When the Gamarāla asked for calves because the front part did not give birth to calves, “There is nothing for you,” he said. After that, the Gamarāla, in order to build a house, cut Waewarana, Kaeṭakāla, Mīlla, Kolon trees (good timber trees commonly used in building houses). The Washerman, also, saying, “I also must build a house,” cut Paepol, Eramudu, Murungā trees (all of which are soft woods, quite useless for any kind of work). When the Gamarāla’s wife was coming near his house, the Washerman, taking the Naekat Pota (an astrological book which deals with prognostications), read aloud from it [these sham prognostications regarding the results to the occupiers if these woods be used in house building]: “For a house of Waewarana, diarrhoea; for a house of Kaeṭakāla, quarrel; for a house of Mīlla, hanging; for a house of Eramudu, purity; for a house of Paepol, land.” Then the Gamarāla’s wife having heard this, goes and says to the Gamarāla, “You have done a foolish thing again. We shall have only sickness and trouble if we build the house with those trees. In the Naekat Pota it is so written. If we use the trees that the Washerman has cut we shall be fortunate.” So the Gamarāla went to the Washerman, and persuaded him to exchange trees with him. Then the Washerman built himself a good house with the Gamarāla’s trees. The trees which the Gamarāla got were of no use to him. Durayā. North-western Province. The incident at the trial in the first part of this story occurs in a slightly different form in a folk-tale that I heard in Cairo. As I am not aware that it has been published I give it here, condensing the first portion (see No. 60). The planting incidents are related by Rabelais, in Pantagruel, chapters 45 and 46. For the benefit of readers in Ceylon, I give the account:—No. 51
The Aet-kanda Lēniyā[1]
No. 52
The Wimalī Story
No. 53
The Pots of Oil
No. 54
The Mouse Maiden[1]
No. 55
Sīgiris Siññō, the Giant
No. 56
The Proud Jackal
STORIES OF THE DURAYĀS
No. 57
The Seven Robbers
No. 58
The Stupid Boy
No. 59
The Gamarāla and the Washerman