When they were all at dinner, the prince again made the gardener's daughter a great many salaams, and gave her food from all the nicest dishes. She wondered at his kindness to her, and thought, "Who is this handsome prince, with a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin? I never saw any one so beautiful. What country does he come from?"
Two or three days were thus passed in feasting, and all that time the King and his people were talking about the prince's beauty, and wondering who he was.
One day the prince asked the King if he had any children. "None," he answered.
"Do you know who I am?" asked the prince.
"No," said the King. "Tell me who you are."
"I am your son," answered the prince, "and the gardener's daughter is my mother."
The King shook his head sadly. "How can you be my son," he said, "when I have never had any children?"
"But I am your son," answered the prince. "Your four wicked Queens told you the gardener's daughter had given you a stone and not a son; but it was they who put the stone in my little bed, and then they tried to kill me."
The King did not believe him. "I wish you were my son," he said; "but as I never had a child, you cannot be my son." "Do you remember your dog Shankar, and how you had him killed? And do you remember your cow Suri, and how you had her killed too? Your wives made you kill them because of me. And," he said, taking the King to Katar, "do you know whose horse that is?"
The King looked at Katar, and then said, "That is my horse Katar." "Yes," said the prince. "Do you not remember how he rushed past you out of his stable with me on his back?" Then Katar told the King the prince was really his son, and told him all the story of his birth, and of his life up to that moment; and when the King found the beautiful prince was indeed his son, he was so glad, so glad. He put his arms round him and kissed him and cried for joy.