CXLIV. How a Tiger Was Killed.
In the days when the Santals lived in the jungle country there was once a man who had a patch of maize by the bank of a stream; and to watch his crop he had put up a platform in his field. Now one day he stole a goat and killed it; he did not take it home nor tell his family; he took it to the maize patch with some firewood and fire and a knife and a hatchet; and he hoisted all these on to his platform and lit a fire in the bottom of an earthen pot and cut up the goat and began to cook and eat the flesh. And a tiger smelt the flesh and came and sat down under the platform.
As the man ate he threw down the bones and as he threw them the tiger caught them in its mouth; and after a time the man noticed that he did not hear the bones strike the ground; so he looked down quietly and saw the tiger; then he was very frightened for he thought that when he could no longer keep the tiger quiet by throwing down bits of meat, the tiger would spring up unto the platform and eat him.
At last a thought struck him and he drew the head of his hatchet off the handle and put it in the fire till it became red-hot; and meanwhile he kept the tiger quiet by throwing down pieces of meat. Then when the axe head was ready he picked it out of the fire and threw it down; the tiger caught it as it fell and roared aloud with pain; its tongue and palate and throat were so burnt that it died.
Thus the man saved himself from the tiger and whether the story be true or no, it is known to all Santals.
CXLV. The Goala’s Daughter.
There was once a man of the Goala caste who had an only daughter and she grew up and was married, but had no child; and after twenty years of married life she gave up all hope of having any. This misfortune preyed on her mind and she fell into a melancholy. Her parents asked her why she was always weeping and all the answer she would give was “My sorrow is that I have never worn clothes of ‘Dusty cloth’ and that is a sorrow which you cannot cure.” But her father and mother determined to do what they could for their daughter and sent servants with money into all the bazars to buy “Dusty cloth”. The shopkeepers had never heard of such an article so they bought some cloth of any sort they could get and brought it to the Goala; when he offered it to his daughter she thanked him and begged him not to waste his money:
“You do not understand” said she—“what I mean by ‘Dusty cloth.’ God has not given it to me and no one else can; what I mean by ‘Dusty cloth’ is the cloth of a mother made dusty by the feet of her child.” Then her father and mother understood and wept with her, saying that they would do what man could do but this was in the hands of God; and they sang:—